Fool's Gold
by IrradiatedWarden
Summary: Beatrice Luck, the unluckiest woman in the Mojave, has survived on nothing but determination and brute strength her whole life. She knows the Mojave all too well, but when she falls victim to the siren's call of the Sierra Madre everything changes. Finding it, that's not the hard part, the hard part is letting it go. (Rated T for a copious amount of profanity and violence.)
1. Chapter 1

Blood spattered across her face, the dark speckles blending in on her freckled cheeks, skin the color of clay fire. The redheaded woman with dangerous blue eyes reared back once more. Lifting the tire iron above her head, she brought it down and cracked it across the skull of the last raider in the building, the muscles in her large biceps bulging and stretching from the force.

The skull shattered and the tire iron bent.

"Fucking bitch." She cursed as she inspected her weapon. It was old, rusted, but it had served her well. Picking brain matter off of it, she frowned and ultimately dropped it. The weapon clattered to the ground of the office floor and Beatrice Luck looked up.

She had left a trail of dead bodies behind her, had spent the better portion of the day clearing the place out and didn't have much more than gashes and bruises to show for it. Adjusting the makeshift bandage on her arm, she leaned down to inspect the body. The man's face was all but unrecognizable, but it was still clear that he had been a drug addict. He looked gnarled, grizzled beyond his years. If Beatrice had to put an age to him, she'd say he was younger than her, only in his early-twenties.

A shame.

The knowledge that this very well could have been her stuck with her as she dug through his pockets. She had once been just like them, roaming the desert and killing for both profit and pleasure. It was the family business. This could have been her, bleeding chems and laughing hysterically as she took a tire iron to the skull.

Turning the body back over she made a disgusted sound and stepped over it.

That wasn't her. She had changed her life. Taking the handkerchief from the pocket of her too-large cargo pants, she wiped her hands clean of the blood as she looked around. Originally, she had come here for a very specific item, but now she just wanted to find a new weapon. Her combat knife could only get her so far. Stuffing the handkerchief back into her pocket she rounded the corner and peered into the dark room. The windows had been boarded up but the glass that was once there lay like shattered diamonds on the dark floor. It had been hundreds of years since the bombs had dropped yet everything still felt like time had stopped.

It was as if everyone just walked away from their desks and lives only never came back. Making her way in to the room that, according to the refrigerator that smelled rank even as far away as she was, once served as a place to eat, she looked around. Nothing struck her as terribly interesting, not until she spotted the toolkit in the corner. Now that had some promise.

Kneeling in front of the metal container, she undid the latches and pried the rusted top off with her grimy hands. Pocketing a handful of bottle caps, she grabbed the lead pipe that had been resting beside it and stood, the pans on her backpack clanking against each other as she did. Twisting the pipe in her hand, she tapped it against her leg to get a feel for it before nodding.

Rust chipped off, flittering down to collect on her pants and the dirty floor.

That would make a great weapon.

Taking that, she left the room, heading back to where a few desks still stood in the broken and busted cubicles. She didn't move quietly, but with heavy steps that came from far too much confidence. One by one, she checked the drawers of the old metal desks until she found what she was looking for.

She gasped in pure excitement. Suddenly, all of the fighting, the new rips in her ill-fitting tee-shirt, was worth it. In her scarred hands she held the first and third volume of La Fantoma, the comic series she had been collecting since she was a child. She couldn't quite believe she was holding them in her hands, the two volumes she could never find. A quick flip through found they weren't quite in perfect condition, but all the pages were there and that was good enough for her.

Slipping her heavy backpack from her shoulders, she opened the top flap and slid them in, making sure they fit perfectly in the mix of her rations and water bottles, she grinned to herself. Eternally pleased, she shrugged her backpack back in to place and stretched out her arms.

Her arms and shoulders ached.

Deciding there were no more threats in the building, she reached back to her pack. Her hand found the dial of her small radio and twisted it. It hissed white noise, shuttered, clicked, and –finally- the room swelled with music. Lazily resting the lead pipe over her broad shoulder, she turned and began making her way out, humming to the tune. Dean Domino.

There was something about his voice that made her heart melt and troubles disappear for just a few minutes. Of all her favorite pre-war singers, Frank Sinatra included, Dean Domino was her favorite. The sweet, mellow tone of his honeyed voice was what always drew her in. No matter how many times she heard the same song played over and over, she fell in love with it each time.

It was a shame there weren't many holo-tapes of Dean Domino left in the world. Even more so, it was a shame that the radio stations didn't seem to own but one.

_When an irresistible force such as you-_

She heard sand battering against the outer walls of the building, heard it seep its way in through the cracks and holes.

_Meets an old immovable object like me-_

Her foot caught on a body, on the Raider's spiked armor as she stepped over it. Ultimately, the expedition had been a bust, but she had enough caps for a whiskey on the rocks and a bed to sleep in. As far as her lackluster luck went, she had done pretty well.

_You can bet just as sure as you live_

"_Somethin's gotta give, somethin's gotta give, somethin's gotta give."_ This time, she sang along. Her voice wasn't that good, but the warm alto tone of it complimented Dean's just fine. She liked to think that maybe, if things had been different, she could have been a singer too.

But that was the fantasy of a child, one she had grown out of.

"_When an irrepressible smile such as yours warms an old implacable heart such as mine, don't say no because I insist."_ She sauntered as she walked, kicking a stray arm with a little too much joy. "_Somewhere, somehow, someone's gotta be kissed_."

Reaching the front room of the office complex, she didn't even flinch at the smell of rotting flesh and drying blood. Flies had covered the walls that were painted with the blood of victims before her, warnings to 'kill kill kill ki- or 'fuck off' streaking the off-white wall paper. Heads had been placed on pikes, bodies hung upside down on chains from the ceiling like macabre chandeliers and she didn't even bat an eyelash. She had seen this before a hundred times and had been the cause of it even more.

Really, as far as body mutilation went, these guys just hadn't been all that creative.

Pushing against the door, the metal groaned and she stepped out in to the Mojave Wasteland.

It smelled like fire, like gunpowder and sweat. The sun glared down on her, harsh and unforgiving. Through her life, she had hated the Mojave blindly and she had loved it unconditionally. Now, at the ripe age of twenty-eight, a year she never thought she'd live to see, she simply accepted it. The Mojave was a dangerous mistress, a murderous one to those who tried to take advantage of her, but Beatrice had lived in it long enough to know how to survive. Pushing her awkward and messy bangs out of her face, she continued forward.

That was all she could do. Move forward. What she was heading towards she wasn't always sure. Maybe it was all pointless. Maybe she killed and struggled for nothing at all, but in that moment, she was two miles away from Freeside and she was going to get her whiskey even if it killed her.

She turned her radio up. She sang louder.

"_Fight, fight, fight, fight it with all of your might, chances are tat some heavenly star-spangled night, we'll find out as sure as we live- somethin's gotta give, somethin's gotta give, somethin's gotta give."_

The sun was already starting to set. The heat of the Mojave was simmering down, leaving the air pleasantly cool. Hands shoved in her pocket, lead pipe hanging from her backpack, she strode through the walled off and broken streets of Freeside. Children chased one another, and in the glimmering neon lights, the night wasn't too terribly dark. But in comparison to the Strip not six blocks away, it was like comparing the moon to the sun.

The Strip, New Vegas, for a moment she stood in the middle of the street and stared down at it. It always left her in awe. Buildings towered into the night sky, glittering and gleaming with the promise of a better life. People laughed as they stumbled in, drunk on luck and bad liquor. Others walked out of the guarded gate with their shoes in their hands, wandering down to get a room they could actually afford at the Atomic Wrangler or maybe just find a safe space to sleep outside.

She let out a breath. One night she would get to go in.

She would see the Strip in all of its glory. She would dress up and brush her hair. She would go to Gomorrah or the Tops and spend money she didn't have on drinks and shows because the experience would be worth it.

All she had to do was save up a little more, then she could get her pass. She would get in one night, but that night wouldn't be this one.

Passing the King's School she gave a passing wave to the greasers who stood out front blowing plumes of smoke into the air. They waved back. Beatrice came around often enough that everyone knew who the redhead was. Where she would usually stop to chat with the members of the Kings, flirt a little and relax, she continued on. Reaching the Atomic Wrangler she pushed the door open and stepped in to the well-lit bar.

"Bea. Hey good to see you again, want the usual?" He wasn't usually so friendly, but Beatrice was a regular, a paying customer and one of the few who didn't just slap her debts on a tab. That alone made James Garret fond of her.

"You know me too well Garret." She grinned at the twin. "Been too long, ain't it doll?"

"Always too long when you're not around," he grabbed a glass from under the bar and ran a rag over it before taking out a bottle of whiskey. Business was slow that night, most patrons had already moved to the back to gamble. Chatting was something he had time for. "What've you been up to?"

She moved to one of the round tables and dropped her backpack. Rubbing her aching shoulders, she let her neck lull to the left, then the right, and she groaned. God it felt good to get that off her. "You know, a bit of this, a bit of that."

He never got a straight answer and had learned to never expect them. "Just glad to see you're still kicking." He pushed the drink across the bar and watched her leave a pile of caps as she took it.

"Yer not the only one." Chuckling to herself, she sat down in her usual chair and kicked her feet up on the table. Music filled the air, twisting with the laughter that came from the back room where the gambling was going down. She stretched out, reclining as far back as the chair would let to let the fans on the high ceiling cool her skin.

The door opened and she didn't look over. She was comfortable and felt no need to make sure whoever it was wasn't out for blood. However, when someone dropped into the chair across from her, she grinned at the familiar face.

He was handsome with vibrant eyes and a perfectly sculpted moustache, more than that, he was someone she knew all too well.

"Well shit," Beatrice offered her signature grin, "look what the radroach dragged in."

"Big Red, you wound me."

She snorted, watching Chip take his hat off and place it on his knee. He smoothed back his dark brown hair with a large hand. "Yer the only one who still calls me that. Come on Chip, get with the times, I haven't used that name since I did merc work."

"Yeah well I knew you when you had two purple Mohawks and hardly spoke anything more than Spanish." He waved at the Garret twin, motioning for his usual.

Chip was a regular face in there as well, known but for different reasons. Where Beatrice was known to be particularly volatile, Chip was always friendly. He was the one anyone could turn to for anything, the kind who would do anything he could to help.

"And you'd think after all that time and two gold teeth ya'd know to stop fuckin' with me." She snorted, eyeing him. Her eyes were alight as she spoke, cooling down into a simmering warmth as she looked him over. "Ya look good Chip, how's that head a' yours doing?"

He picked up the beer that was placed before him and rubbed the starburst scar on the side of his forehead where the bullet had pierced his skull with the other. "Could be doing worse. Still dealing with that whole platinum chip thing though, I'll tell you what, that's a mighty fine pain in my rear."

"Yeah, revenge can be like that. I keep telling you though, if you want me to kill that asshole who shot you, I'll do it for a box of snackcakes."

He shook his head, knowing what to take seriously and what to ignore. "No, that's something I gotta handle myself Red." Taking a swig of his drink, he leaned back in his chair, stretching out his long legs under the table. "But I'm not here to talk work with you. I got a better proposition for you, actually."

"Does it involve snack cakes?"

"No."

"Then you don't got my attention."

He chuckled. "Come on. I got somethin' even more tempting."

"Oh now I like the sound of that." She wiggled her brows at him and he just about choked on his drink, snorting.

"Not what I meant." He had pressed the back of his hand against his nose and mouth, smiling wildly. "Believe it or not, I think I got somethin' even more interestin' for ya. Take a listen." He messed with a dial on his wrist and the pip-boy made a strange sound for a moment before the radio frequency came through.

"Has your life taken a turn?" The sultry, smooth voice of the radio asked. "Do troubles beset you? Has fortune left you behind? If so, the Sierra Madre Casino, in all its glory, is inviting you to begin again. Come to a place where wealth, excitement and intrigue await around every corner. Stroll along the winding streets of our beautiful resort, make new friends or," the voice seemed to take a breath, smiling, "rekindle old flames." There was a quiet chuckle. "Let your eyes take in the luxurious expanse of the open desert under clear starlit skies. Gaze straight on into the sunset from our villa rooftops. Countless diversions await: Gamble in our casino, take in the theater, or stay in one of our exclusive executive suites that will shelter you and cater to your every whim. So if life's worries have weighted you down, if you need an escape from your troubles, or if you just need an opportunity to begin again, join us, let go, and leave the world behind at the Sierra Madra grand opening this October…we'll be waiting."

And with that, the radio station shut off. Chip turned his pip-boy off and looked at her.

Beatrice was staring at him, blue eyes bright and wide. He had remembered her talking about the Sierra Madre, about the treasure hidden in the old walls. She heard the rumors when she was young, the ghosts of stories that promised adventure and excitement. She had surfed her radio stations endlessly but she had never found this broadcast. She had dreamed about the Sierra Madre, but was never able to even think of going.

Not until now.

Removing her combat boots from the table she leaned forward to meet him. A hand reached out to touch his. "Chip, you know what this means, right?"

He grinned, gold teeth showing on the right side of his canines. "Ah, not exactly, but I thought you might. You talked about it before." But that's where his memory failed him. He remembered hearing her say the words, but the rest of his thoughts were scrambled by a flying piece of led.

Her expression only widened. "You don't remember the legends? Dios Mio. The Sierra Madre is said to be a dead city, mummified in the war, filled with riches and adventure. People 've gone after it before, but no one's found it, or, no one who's come back has." She was growing more excited as she spoke. "I've heard about it since I was a kid. Chip, we can go. Think of what we could do together. With your sharp shooting and my strength, nothing could stop us."

"I'm too busy for that, but _you_ can." When he saw her frown, he lifted his hands passively. "No, no think about it, you know how to handle yourself better than anyone I know. Look at you, strong, brave, _clever_."

She wouldn't admit it, but his flattery worked. Seeing her small smile, he continued.

"Would you really miss the opportunity just because I can't go? Come on, listen to the ad, you can stroll along the streets, make new friends, rekindle old flames." He wiggled his eyebrows at her.

She laughed, reaching over to shove his arm as she winked. "You're the only old flame I need, _potro."_

"Ya know, I don't know what that means, but I think I like the sound of it." He laughed along with her, the sound careless and open. "Come on, you said you've heard about it since you were a kid."

She finished off her whiskey, shutting her eyes for a moment as she let the burn settle in her throat. "Ya sure yer just not tryin' to get rid of me?"

"Never." He dramatically placed a hand on his chest.

Mulling her glass over in her hand, she kept her fingers busy. "Where do I go, though?"

"I'd track the radio frequency. Last I checked, it was comin' from some ol' Brotherhood of Steel bunker. Here, lemme see your map, I'll mark it down."

Setting the glass back on the table, she leaned over and dug through her bag. She had a pip-boy, but not like Chip's. Hers was the size of a small journal, compact and light. Turning it on, she handed it over to him. It had been luck, plucking that off a dead guy, she never would have gotten such a fancy piece of equipment. The only reason she hadn't sold it for a pile of caps was because it was useful for making sure her radiation poisoning never got too bad.

She watched his brows furrow as he worked to figure out the piece of tech. Biting his lip, he focused. A few beeping sounds were heard and he suddenly brightened once more. "Ah, got it! Alright, there you go."

"Thank you very much baby-doll." She took the pip-boy back and looked at it, scrolling over with her finger. It was a few days away, not too bad considering she spent most of her time wandering the sands anyway. She went where the wind blew her, survived on what the land gave her. Beatrice was a wastelander in the truest meaning of the word. "Guess I'll have to head that way soon then, huh?"

"The Mojave will survive without you, I'll make sure it doesn't catch fire and burn down."

"You sure? Things seem to go wrong when you're involved." She stretched her arms once more, rubbed her biceps and glanced at the bandage. The blood had seeped through the cloth, drying over. Ignoring the wound, knowing it would heal up just fine on its own, she reached into her pocket instead.

Just a few months ago, Chip would have expected her to pull out a needle and shoot up right then. But she had changed and he was proud of her. Instead, she pulled out a package of bubblegum. Dexterous fingers unwrapped the foil and he watched her fold it in half before popping it in her mouth.

A thought struck him.

"Hey, you still in the market for a pup?"

She looked at him. "Yeah, why?"

"I got a friend who's dog is about to have a litter. If you want, I bet I can snag one for you."

"Chip, baby, you're the best friend a girl could ask for."

Chip didn't hide his grin, gold teeth flashing once more. "Tell me somethin' I don't know."

She chuckled, the sound turning in to a warm hum that rubbed the back of her throat. "Well," the chair scraped as she stood. "I should grab a room before they all get taken, huh? Thanks for takin' a moment to chat with me, I know yer busy."

"Always good to see a friendly face now'a days. Ain't too many left."

"They would'a taken one more if they had gotten you, baby-doll." She tossed her pack over her shoulder once more.

"Oh now you're just being too nice to me. Careful, you might just steal my heart."

She walked backwards to the bar, to where the Garret twins handed out drinks. "Who's ta say that ain't my goal?" As she reached the bar she turned back to look at the male twin. "One room, please."

"Ten caps."

The exchange went flawlessly and she scooped up the key. Dangling it on her finger she looked back to Chip. "I'll be in room seven if you wanna join me, you know."

"Don't tempt me Bea."

"Oh I'll tempt you all night long." She laughed, wiggled her brows once more, and walked away, climbing the open staircase to the second floor where the rooms looked out over the open bar.

Chip scoffed and watched but he didn't follow. He never followed, and this was what they did. They flirted, they laughed, and they were friends. Real friends, the sort of friends that was hard to find in a place filled with murder and death. She may have knocked two of his teeth out, but she was his favorite little spitfire, someone he would always support because he knew she would support him.

She unlocked the door and shot one last wink at him before stepping inside the thread-bare room. The music and laughter could still be heard through the walls and the door. Dropping her bag without care, she kicked off her shoes and undid the button on her pants. They fell right off of her frame, pooling on the ground around her ankles. Stepping out of them, she walked right for the bed and fell face first on it. The fan overhead hummed softly as it twisted, blowing cool air on her hot skin.

Reaching back, she grabbed the hem of her shirt and wrestled it off, tossing it so it landed somewhere in the dark. Gathering her mess of wavy hair, she pulled it to the side and let the cool air wash over her scarred back.

She fell asleep in an instant, breathing deep and slow. Sleep was her escape. It was the only reason she was still able to believe in heaven.

She stared down at the manhole in the ground. This was it, or, she hoped this was it. If it wasn't, she was going to knock another tooth down Chip's throat for making her travel all this way for nothing. Reaching down, she grunted as she pried it open. The stale air wafted up and she wrinkled her nose. Bracing herself on the concrete, she swung her legs down the hole and let herself drop into the bunker. She landed with a quiet thunk and dusted her hands off on her pants. There was a flight of stairs heading down deeper in to the bunker. Ignoring the dead body in the corner, she eased her way down.

"Sierra Madre." She whispered the name that was painted on the door way and couldn't stop the jittering excitement that caught her blood alight.

One hand tightly wrapped around her lead pipe, she pushed the door open and eased her way through the thin hall. Even if she had tried to be quiet, in a hall like that it would have been all for naught.

The door at the end of the hall was open, revealing the room at the end. It was pitch black, circular with a single lit area in the center.

"Do troubles beset you? Has fortune left you behind?" The radio asked. It was an old radio, pre-war and poised on a pedestal, glistening in the sterile light.

Beatrice's eyes narrowed as she closed the distance between her and the room. Just barely entering the threshold, she stopped.

"If so, the Sierra Madre Casino, in all its glory, is inviting you to begin again. Come to a place where wealth, excitement and intrigue await around every corner."

Nothing moved. There seemed to be no other door and, slowly, she took a step towards the radio.

"Stroll along the winding streets of our beautiful resort, make new friends or rekindle old flames."

There was something wrong about this. Something didn't sit right with her and her mind was screaming at her to run while she still could. But she took another step forward.

"Let your eyes take in the luxurious expanse of the open desert under clear starlit skies. Gaze straight on into the sunset from our villa rooftops."

Nothing happened.

More confident, she closed the distance and heard the door slam shut behind her. Red gas filled the room and she turned to leave. Her shoe, sole torn from the tip of her boot, caught on the ground and she tripped. She hit the ground hands first, barely saving her head from the fall. The radio was still playing but the sounds had become distorted, demonic.

Something moved behind her and her vision blurred. Someone was screaming and it took her a moment to realize that was her. The gas did something to her, forced her limbs to go limp. Something grabbed her ankles and yanked her viciously backwards, scraping her cheek on the icy metal ground. She watched as her lead pipe rolled away out of reach.

It went dark.


	2. Chapter 2

_She was weightless, floating. Her eyes were shut, lashes flush against her rouged cheeks. She felt her lips pull in to a smile, and, slowly, she opened her eyes. Lights shined down on her, masking the faces of the audience members. The house lights were out and she could hear the silence that resonated from the spectators. All eyes were on her and she was acutely aware of it. A hand lifted, the scars on her knuckles and lower arms, marks that made a map of her life were hidden under a white silk glove._

_Her fingers touched the old mic before her and she could feel the cold resonating through her fingertips. She pulled it closer to her, tender, like a lover._

_Beatrice shifted her weight to one foot, popping her hip out as the other leg slid to show through the long slit of the inky black dress that parted like water, tasteful sequins glimmering like the stars in the night sky._

_"__Blue skies, smilin' at me," she crooned into the mic, "nothin' but blue skies, do I see."_

_Her hip bopped slightly as her eyes shut once more, the motion languid, "Bluebirds, signin' a song, nothin' but blue birds all day long."_

_The big band behind her kicked up, loud and vibrant. Her own voice lifted up to join in the noise, powerful and strong._

_"__Never saw the sun shinin' so bright, never saw things goin' so right." Her eyes opened, joy filling her veins. "Noticin' the days hurrin' by when you're in love my how they fly."_

_The rest of the song was a blur, an amazing high that she only came down from when they were doing their bows. People were standing, clapping, and in the audience she saw them. Her older brothers standing beside one another, Andrew holding his young son as Mark cheered for her. Her parents were at the same table with them, her father mouthing something she couldn't catch and her mother looking proud of her for once._

_She moved forward, gathering her skirt as she went to leap off the edge of the stage to go meet them. The laughter that came from her, light and airy, disappeared as everything twisted. Her feet left the stage and she was falling, the ground swallowing her hole._

_She felt nothing but the cold rush of air on her skin._

Just as she was coming to, she felt a sharp crack against her head. Pain radiated through her skull and by the reaction of whatever was carrying her, it was an accident. She heard words, some sort of chastising, and her head bounced against something sturdy like she were nothing more than a sack of potatoes and she was out again.

She awoke with a pained groan. Lying on her side, half curled up, her face was pressed in to the dirty cobblestone street below. Breathing slowly, the woman didn't open her eyes, not right away. Her head hurt like the aftermath of getting smash-faced drunk without any of the fun. She tasted blood in her mouth, prodded her lower lip with her tongue to find it was bleeding. There was something else too, the taste of poison and death clinging to her tongue. It stuck to her skin, she could feel it wrapping around her like a sickly humidity.

Pressing a hand on to the ground, she grunted as she pushed herself to sit up. She let her head hang down as she sat there for a moment, staring at her bare legs. Things were clicking slowly.

Her clothes were gone, leaving her sitting there in her boxer-shorts and sports bra and- she frowned, reaching up to touch her neck. There was something there, biting in to her flesh and chafing it uncomfortably. With both hands, she investigated what had been placed on her, her mind telling her she knew what it was but she couldn't quite place it.

Then, she knew. The blood rushed out of her face, turning her sickly pale. She had seen these things before, but only with the Legion. No matter how bad her tribe had been, not even they used these.

It was a slave collar.

She had a bomb strapped to her throat.

"Are you listening?" The masculine voice asked. She was sure he had asked it before only to receive no response.

Watching as her legs were bathed in a pale blue light, she finally looked up, staring at the face in the hologram that floated above what seemed to be an old fountain. Her breath was coming faster, anxiety pooling in her stomach. The face was that of an old man, his hair and thick beard white, eyes cold even in the picture.

She didn't respond, but the hologram seemed to take that as compliance.

"Good. From now on, when I talk, listen- and follow my instructions." The man continued. "Play stupid, play clever, make the mistake of saying 'no'? That collar on your neck'll go off and take your head with it."

She was glancing behind him at the Spanish villas in the background, at the towering casino that loomed over the city. Everything was dark, rust colored smog hanging low and twisting through the streets like snakes. Standing on her bare feet she squared her shoulders and looked at the hologram.

Fear filled her, but she didn't let that show. She had practice in hiding her emotions, in keeping them locked behind a deceptive smile and boisterous laugh. Beatrice didn't like being controlled and disliked those who tried to control her even more.

"The fuck do you want, _Chingado_?" She spat the word with defiance that only came from someone who hated authority more than anything else. Without care of hiding her body, not even knowing if he could actually see her, she placed her hands on her hips, her stance wide. "The hell am I here?"

"You're here because like so many others, your curiosity- greed perhaps –has gotten the better of you. That structure you see above the fountain," she glanced up back at the hotel in the distance, "The Sierra Madre Casino…you need to break inside. A heist too many years in the making."

The Sierra Madre Casino. She was there, she was really _there._

Any excitement she might have had felt wrong, settling heavy in her body.

"But you can't do it alone. I've tried." There was something to his voice, a sort of insanity that didn't sit right with her. "You'll need to gather the others, a team."

"So I'm not the only person you've drugged and kidnapped? Great."

He continued as though he hadn't even heard her. "Around the Villa there are three other collars like yours- collar 8, 12, and 14. Find all three and get them here, to the fountain, then we'll talk."

Not one to blindly comply, she cocked her head to the side. She sucked in a breath through her nose and almost gagged right then. Gathering herself, she spoke. "Not sure if I'm the one you want for that, I don't play well with others. Raider blood, you know?" It was a threat, a casual one that usually kept others at bay. Though she didn't believe it herself, many swore that once someone was a raider, they were always a raider. People didn't change.

But she had.

"I fear you're going to become a problem. A warning, then. You'll be glad to know all of your collars are linked, connected together. One of you dies…you all die. If that's what it takes to make you cooperate, so be it. Do this," he took a breath, "and I will let all of you go."

She didn't believe him for one second. She had been tricked once and would not be tricked again. The holograph disappeared and for a moment, she was left in the dark red mist alone.

But that lasted for only a moment.

The holograph flickered and in the place of the man's face, a woman stood. She was beautiful, a pre-war actress of some sort if Beatrice had to guess, and she spoke. She repeated the same advertisement that had played on the radio, heartless, empty. For a moment, she felt her broad shoulders deflate, then, something caught her eye. Moving forward to the tiled fountain, she picked up the folded pile of clothes and frowned. The jumpsuit was either a light brown or dirty white and it sported a large red 'x' on the back as though someone had just slapped paint across it.

Grumbling to herself, she stepped in to the jump suit and shrugged it on, pulling her arms through the sleeves that were too tight on her biceps for her preference. It agitated the cut on her arm, and that was when she realized the bandage had been removed.

"Mother fucker." She shrugged the sleeve off her shoulder just enough to look at it. The blood had congealed, scabbed with however long she had been out, but the flesh around it was swollen and an angry shade of red. This did not bode well and her experience with survival told her that much.

The zipper caught a few times, rusted with age, but she eventually got it up. Sitting down, she tugged the boots in to place on her wrapped and blistered feet before standing. Grabbing her pip-boy that had been resting under the clothes, she shoved it in her pocket.

A gun had been sitting next to the jumpsuit, a new-age rifle of some sort, and she frowned at it. Guns and Beatrice had never gotten along. She was more likely to shoot her own foot (again) then do any actual damage to what she was attempting to aim at.

So she left it.

She was about to leave, turn and try to find her way through the maze of villas when something caught her attention. Coins were shining in the cracked, dry fountain. Stepping over the edge, she crouched down, hearing her knees pop as she picked up a coin to look it over.

It looked like it belonged in a slot machine.

Figuring it could be of some use, she shoved what she found in her pockets, picked up an ace of spades card that had been left abandoned and stood up straight once more.

Passing a hand through her tangled curls, realizing the bandana that kept them out of her face had been stolen as well, she looked around, taking in something new every time her eyes passed over the scene. The villas seemed to creek and groan, looming over her with broken shingles and boarded doors.

Blind to her new surroundings, she moved forward in to the twisting halls and pathways that the buildings created. Her shoes were heavier than she was accustomed to, clothes smelling like old blood. God she hoped that 'x' on the back had been made with paint. Taking to a half jog, she maneuvered her way around the buildings, glancing over her shoulder occasionally when she thought she heard something.

Of course, nothing was ever there when she looked.

Streaks of blood marked walls here and there, pooling at the bottom of a handful of steps and, to the side, she saw what was left of the victim who had left such a grizzly path. Half way up the steps that led to slightly higher ground, she eyed the skeleton that had fallen, boxed in where they had tried to make their last stand. Some part of her wanted to chastise them for being so foolish. Everyone knew better than to get caught in a corner, didn't they?

Still, their loss was her gain. Stepping off the landing, she landed loudly on the ground below, kicking up dust as she did so. From the skeleton's hands, she pried out what had been their dying weapon.

She looked over the spear that was nothing more than a broom handle with four cosmic knives taped to the top.

Well, that would do the job. At least this fool had chosen knives that didn't need to be sharpened. That made her life a bit easier.

There was that sound again, louder this time, like someone breathing through a gas mask.

The hairs on the back of Beatrice's neck stood up and she straightened. Turning as quietly as she could, she surveyed the small open area around her, eyes cold and calculating not like prey, but like a predator.

It was dawning on her then as she headed back up the steps, that this wasn't her home. This place wasn't a barren wide expanse of land filled with creatures she knew how to handle and plants she knew how to use. She was out of her element and that knowledge worried her. Shoulders rolling forward, she half hunched down as she crept along the pathways. In the dark, in the smog, she really did look like an animal. She was still confident, yes, but now she was beginning to become cautious as well.

Spear clenched tightly in her right hand, the other lifted to try and adjust the collar that had been clamped on too tightly around her throat. It burned, already she could feel it starting to rub her skin raw.

That pain distracted her, drew her attention away from her surroundings just long enough as she rounded the corner to not see the figure move back in to the shadows.

That sound was there again, strange clicking noises under the filter of a gas mask. To her left, then right, and she heard the footsteps a split second before the creature was upon her.

Twisting on her feet, she threw her spear up just in time to block the weapon coming at her face. The creature had lept down from the rooftops, forcing her to stumble back. Gritting her own teeth, she watched it for just a moment, knees bent as she too was ready to spring forward at any time.

Whatever it was, no matter how human it looked, it was clear that it wasn't human any more. The glass orbs on the gasmask emitted an eerie green glow and its head tilted to the side, body covered in a strange ensemble of clothing and rags.

She lunged at it, spear ready.

She jabbed forward and the creature lept over her with a shocking ease like a mantis on Psycho. Beatrice pivoted on her feet once more, one foot slipping on a piece of tile that chipped off. The precise attack lost its strength but she managed to clip it on the side of the head, smacking it with one of the knives.

Dazed, it stumbled.

Fire roared through her blood, adrenaline pulsing. She could feel it in the way her muscles shook, the way it heightened the world around her, the way she could feel the spear pierce the creature's stomach, slicing through tissue and organs. Blood spilled out, staining the ground and she drove the spear in farther. The noise it made was inhuman, a half screeching sound that made her teeth hurt as she continued forcing it backwards. Its back hit the wall and she twisted the spear until she felt it hit the brick and mortar.

The creature went limp.

Breathing hard through her nose like an angry bull, she grunted as she pulled the spear out of its torso. The blood glistened in the low-light and the action had pulled some entrails out of the open wound. They dripped.

A grin found its way on to her face, ease coming over her limbs once more.

That hadn't been so bad.

Turning away she let out a breath that was surprisingly shaky and shook out her arms, trying to relieve the tension that had built up in them. Letting the spear rest over a shoulder, she hummed and took a step away.

Sharp pain bloomed in the back of her calf, sending sparks of light shooting in her eyes at the agony of it. She stumbled and fell, losing her spear in the tussle. Twisting on to her back, ready to throw her weight up and leap on to her feet, the creature met her first. She rolled to the side to dodge the attack from the spear it held, kicking a leg to swipe its feet out from under it. It fell over her and all she could see was her own reflection mirrored in those green lenses.

Dirt was smeared across her face and in her own eyes she could see raw fear.

She had killed this thing, it had been _dead._

It pulled a spare knife and she smacked her forehead against it, head-butting it with as much force as she could muster. Grabbing its shoulders she twisted, using her power and strength to shift their weight. She had pinned it down but it still had the knife, the wound on its abdomen still weeping blood. Grabbing the hand that had the knife she wrestled with it, keeping it apart from her. Its hand tried to grasp her and she socked it across the face. Then she hit it again.

It was struggling.

Again.

The screaming sounds that came from the gasmask filled the air and drilled in to her.

Again.

Knocking the knife to the side she grabbed the creature by the head and smacked it against the stone below, repeating the motion over and over until the sharp cracking sound turned in to something soft and wet as she beat mush and brain matter against the ground. It wasn't moving.

But this time, she would take no chances.

Grabbing the impossibly sharp cosmic knife from its limp gloved hand, she drew it with a quick motion across its throat, severing the head.

Then, for a moment, she just sat there.

It didn't move.

She nudged a knuckle across the side of her own nose, smearing blood on her face without thought as she looked up. Part of her wanted to be horrified with what she had just done. She was scared, yes, but not for the right reasons. She was scared because it had come back to life, not because of her own actions, scared because she was alone.

Alone.

Standing on shaking legs, she grabbed her spear and continued down the lonely roads of the Sierra Madre villa. Blood wept from her leg, soaking in to her jumpsuit, and with every step she took she flinched.

Her collar beeped steadily.


	3. Chapter 3

It was the light that drew her to the police station more than the sound of bells. She had gotten lost, turned around, and exhaustion was beginning to work its way in to her bones. But this, this place promised some sort of safety. Her stomach rumbled, twisting in on itself as it craved some sort of foodstuffs but that was something she had learned to ignore. Hunger was nothing new to her. She could go days without eating if she had to.

What worried her was the lack of water. Her backpack was gone, her bottles having gone with it, and she still hadn't found an adequate replacement.

Slowing her stride she stopped in front of the door to the police station and sighed, resting her head against the green wood. She was content to stand there, feel the solidity of the door when the gurgling hiss of a gas mask caught her attention. It reminded her why she never took breaks. She had to keep moving, she knew that, but her leg was aching and she was grinding her teeth together in an attempt to ignore the pain. The problem wasn't even the injury per se, the problem was that once she stopped she knew she wouldn't start up again.

With a grunt, she pulled herself from the door and reached for the knob. What stopped her this time wasn't the ache of her bones, but the carvings on the wall. Her hand hovered awkwardly over the handle as she read the words, the letters broken and partially backwards. It looked like a child had written it.

"Find God in the simplest of beasts." She muttered the words to herself, tasting them on her tongue. It didn't make sense, then again, there were a few English phrases she still didn't understand. Maybe this was one of them.

Shaking her head, she twisted the knob and listened as the door creaked open.

The door shut behind her, leaving her in a dark room. The smog hadn't infested it and she felt some sort of relief in taking a breath of moderately fresh air. Her lungs were burning, unaccustomed to the heavy atmosphere.

She wasn't used to any of this, the lack of a sky, the high towering walls. It felt wrong. It made her anxious.

Eyes adjusting to the light, she stepped forward.

_Beep._

Beatrice frowned.

_Beep beep._

She looked at her collar then around in a sudden panic.

_Beep beep beep beepbeepbeep._

"Shit shit shit motherfucking god _dammit_." She cursed blindly as she looked around, trying to figure out what had trigger the bomb collar to suddenly start beeping.

She knew what this was, it was about to go off. She had seen it before, and it wasn't pretty.

_BeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepBEEPBEEPBE-._

Something clicked in her panicked thoughts and, in a last ditch effort, she lunged at the table a few paces away and threw herself at the hissing radio. Instead of unplugging it, she ripped the cords out and threw it across the room.

The radio crashed against the far wall, breaking but not shattering.

The beeping stopped.

Her heart vibrated, leaving her limbs shaking. That was a feeling she hadn't experienced in a while. It was a cocktail of pure, raw fear and concentrated adrenaline that left her all sorts of twitchy.

Bracing her hands on the table, she shut her eyes, nausea rushing over her.

"Oh, did I forget to mention?" The voice came from the pip-boy in her pocket. The old man. He sounded too smug for her tastes. "Speakers and radios interfere with the bomb collar's frequency and can trigger the detonators ah," he chuckled, "prematurely. But I'm sure you've figured this out haven't you?"

She was waiting for her breathing to slow, anxiety burning in her muscles. In her mind, she was replaying the moment over again. She could still hear the rapid beeping. Reaching up, Beatrice attempted to adjust the collar once more but found she couldn't even wedge a finger under the edge if she tried.

It was latched on to her like a bear-trap.

"Yeah, thanks for the warning." Her response was less than a whisper, spoken more to herself than the old man. "'F you want me to help ya out, ya should make an effort to not get me killed at every fuckin' turn."

He didn't respond and she didn't expect him to.

The sound of silence was rolling over her. Beatrice focused on her heart-beat, her breathing, the heavy sound of…something else.

Her eyes popped wide open.

It was in that moment when she looked up she realized who –no, _what_ was in the room with her. Hip leaning against the desk she stared at the open holding-cell in the corner. Well, not so much the cell, but the creature that was in it. Under the milky white light she could see the hunched creature breathe, dusky blue skin stretching across its impossibly muscular chest. Even sitting, he was as tall as she was, and Beatrice was not a short woman.

Nightkin.

She felt the blood rush from her face, fear filling her lungs once more. Creatures that came back to life and now Nightkin? How was Beatrice supposed to fight this thing? With things her size she was fine, those were things she could full body tackle and over power with raw strength. But this? No. It would snap her neck before she could even poke at it with her spear.

Her exposure with those creatures was limited at best, but she had sustained enough injuries from each run in to know that this was a creature to be feared. They were explosive, dangerous, and mental at the best of times.

But, he wasn't moving. His large arms with bulging muscles larger than her head were wrapped around his knees. At the distance she couldn't see much more, but he hadn't moved when she threw the broken radio his direction.

That could be either a very good sign, or a very bad one.

Keeping her spear at the ready, she moved across the room, rounding the corner until she was out of sight. One wall was lined with counters, a coffee pot and relatively clean mugs. That could come in handy if she could get a damned backpack. Another corner was filled with chairs and debris, but just above that, on the wall, was something of true interest. The red cross on the white box just about made up for everything she had been through.

Pulling it open, she felt a grin find its way on to her features. Maybe her last name was finally catching up. A package of bobby pins, not one but _two_ stimpaks, and a whole bottle of dirty water waited for her. It was like her own little package of heaven.

The word that appeared in her thoughts, heaven, struck her as odd but she quickly ignored it. This was not a time for questioning her own shaky philosophy of the world. Taking one of the stimpaks in hand, she used her teeth to pull off the protective plastic covering and she injected herself. The relief wasn't instant, but she shivered none the less. It was like a fresh high, a glass of fresh water for her veins. Tossing the needle aside, she rubbed the injection point and let out a pleased hum, feeling the pain in her leg start to dissipate. Her arm, though, not so much

Odd, yes, but she could live with a hurt arm so long as she could run. She'd take a broken arm over a broken leg any day of the month.

Shoving the other needle in her pocket along with the package of hairpins she frowned at the lack of storage at her disposal. The jumpsuit only had two pockets. After a year or more of wearing nothing but cargo pants, she couldn't quite fathom how people could get along with only two pockets.

Grabbing the water, she refrained from looking too closely at it. Even she could become disgusted at the strange items so often found in bottles of water. Managing to squeeze it in to her other pocket, she frowned at the awkward bulge. It fit, but she wouldn't be able to carry any more.

She really needed a backpack.

Peering around the corner, she did a quick scan of the room in the hopes of finding something. The lockers looked promising, but they were closer to the mutated beast than she wanted to be.

"Dammit."

She slipped behind the wall once more and gave up on that idea. Risking her skin being pealed right off of her for a bag just wasn't something she was willing to do without a heavy dose of Psycho and Buffout.

_Mmm_. Psycho sounded good right then.

At the thought, she instantly reached for the package of gum she always kept in her right pocket only to realize it wasn't there. Gum was the only reason she had been able to get and stay clean, it was her new addiction and much less harmful than the cocktail of chems she was on.

Shaking her head like that would remove her thoughts she headed for the only door in her hide-away and shoved it open. Only, it didn't open. The knob hadn't turned.

Locked. Really?

Not in the mood to fight with picking a lock, she opted to take a running start at the door instead. Against her shoulder, the door broke open. Her shoulder ached, but that was a small price to pay for getting the door open. However, she hadn't expected to stumble back out in to the Villa.

"Oh that's bullshit."

Turning around she stomped back inside in absolute frustration. Beatrice slammed the door behind her. There was no going around it, then. She had seen another hall leading do another part of the police station that passed by the cell, and she supposed she really had to go past it.

He was going to skin her alive. He'd reach straight through those bars and take a bite right out of her. Well, there were worse ways to die.

She was having a hard time thinking of any, but she was sure they were there.

Taking in a breath, she rounded the corner and sprinted past the cage, taking the first turn she found and practically threw herself her down stairs. She took them two at a time, twisting around the corner to take a jump that led her the rest of the way down. Beatrice landed and used the flowing motion to push through the door that was labeled 'Authorized personnel only'.

She skidded to a stop as the door shut behind her and waited.

The creature hadn't broken out of its cage, it wasn't charging after her.

Shaking out her arms to remove the odd sensation that had been crawling up them, she placed one hand on the wall and turned the corner, heading down another smaller flight of stairs. The walls weren't chipping paint any more, they were metal, lit by small green lights on the ceiling. It looked like someone had built a bunker in anticipation for the war.

It felt like no one had opened that door in years. The air was stuffy and rancid, but it was still better than the Cloud that waited for her outside.

"Ah, I was wondering when you would get here."

Beatrice's hair prickled on her arms and she stared down the dark hallway that awaited her. She saw no one. The voice was soft, calm and controlling compared to the hint of insanity that she associated with the old man. The old man was always expecting things of her, pushing her forward, but there was a soft tone to these words that almost sounded like he had just been waiting patiently.

"I take it you found the markings I left for you on the walls?"

Beatrice stepped forward, holding the spear carefully. Her steps were too heavy, too loud in the claustrophobic hall. She thought back, mind flashing to the words she had jogged past, the messages that held no interest to her save for one.

"Find God in the simplest of creatures." She repeated the sentence almost silently, looking down at the floor as she recited the words.

"Yes, good."

She pushed her way through rooms, twisting through doors in the darkness until she reached the end. There was no one waiting for her like she expected. The room she had stumbled in to was empty.

She looked back up, staring at the radio on the desk. Her heart rate was already beginning to speed up. In her head, she could hear the beeping of her collar, the fear pooling in her stomach. Yet, she was acutely aware that the signal had not yet been disrupted.

"Do you see the holotape on the desk? Pick it up, head upstairs, and play it. We will talk more then. Lock the beast away."

The radio clicked off before she had a chance to ask why. Hands twitching, unsure, she reached out and picked up the small cartridge. The holotape wasn't anything special that she could see, but she shrugged none the less. She moved slower as she headed back upstairs, her limbs beginning to weigh heavy with fatigue.

If she had once been excited for this, that excitement and bloodlust was gone.

She was tired.

She was tired and hungry and wanted nothing more than to rest.

Pulling her pip-boy from her pocket, she fitted the tape in to the slot and let the door shut behind her. Sucking up her waning bravery, she headed towards the cage.

The hulking creature had still not moved. Heavy chains as broad as her arm hung around its neck, a bear trap strapped to his forearm in a form of self-mutilation, rusty teeth digging in to the thick blue flesh for so long it seemed to have merged with it.

She looked at her pipboy and hit the play button.

"Dog," the voice from before ordered, authority clear and natural, "get back in the cage."

The Nightkin thrashed suddenly, holding his paw-like hands to his ears, calling out his reluctance until he stilled.

Beatrice had scrambled back, lifting her weapon defensively and barely keeping a grip on the piece of technology in her hand. Where he rose up, she hunched down, not in fear, but in preparation to defend herself. She was ready to pounce.

The creature stood, tall and broad. His back straightened and, for once, she got to see what was written on his chest. Carved in to his very flesh in capital letters was the word 'dog'. She was staring and couldn't seem to pull her eyes away until he spoke.

"Put your weapon down, there is no reason to act like an animal." The way he spoke the last word was so self-loathing she wasn't quite sure how to respond for a moment.

He was speaking. A Nightkin was speaking to her.

Slowly, she lowered the weapon, letting the tips of the knives touch the ground as her arm straightened, the piece of wood pressing flush against her muscle.

He stared at her, eyes sharp and distant. "You are not the one I was expecting."

"Seems I never am."

He did not seem too amused by her retort and vandal smile.

"I will not talk with the Old Man's followers. I will wait here until he comes to find me himself or dies." He had turned away from her, moving deeper in to the cell.

She should have known this wouldn't be so easy. No one ever readily agreed to drop everything they were doing and run off with her.

"Hey, wait, come on sweetie at least hear me out." Beatrice moved her hands with casual grace. "You sound like you have a vendetta against the Old Man-."

"To put it lightly." He grumbled the answer.

"I can tell you that I don't like him either. Guy is kind of an ass. So how 'bout we team up, appease him for a bit until he lets his guard down, then you can get whatever kind of revenge you want an' I can escape."

He turned to look at her with that last word. "Escape." The Nightkin repeated it slowly before making a snorting sound. "That's what they all want, at first. No, no you'll be just like the rest of them. You'll fall into the Madre's trap and forget about escaping."

"You know, I admit, I'm a pretty awful person." She took a step forward. "But I ain't the greedy sort. No reason to be."

"You're here, aren't you? Greed. Curiosity. It'll eat you." He turned to face her fully, stalking towards her. "But you need me. That's why you're here. If you want someone to follow you blindly, then call Dog out from the basement. I will not do so."

She almost screamed in frustration. Meeting his challenge, she too stepped towards the cage, drawing her shoulders back to bow herself up. "I don't want a blind follower, I want someone who can think for himself and help me get this over 'n done with."

There was silence and, for a long moment, they just stared at each other.

"How do I know you won't change your mind later?"

"I'll prove it to you. If I was gonna let out Dog, don't ya think I would have done so already?" She tilted her chin up, staring at him.

Then, slowly, one big meaty hand came up and from a pocket he produced a key. The cell door opened. Hunching over so he could fit through it, he stood up and his sheer size forced her to slide away.

"Then let us go."

They wandered the streets together, moving slowly. There was an unspoken understanding between them, some sort of odd respect shared betwixt the two that let them move without speaking. Beatrice was attempting to commit the streets and patterns to memory, but her head was beginning to fail her. Shaking her head slightly, she took in a deep breath of poisoned air and coughed. The force was enough to make her almost stumble, the sound rasping and unpleasant.

Absently, despite all of that, she flipped a gold coin around her fingers, watching it dance between the scarred knuckles.

"Hey God, what the hell are these used for anyway?"

He glanced at her, watching the coin for just a moment. "There are vending machines. Put enough in, you get what you want out."

This interested her. She lifted a brow. "What kind of stuff?"

"Any kind of thing you want from my understanding. Food. Drink. Drugs."

The last word hit her and she glanced at him. Did he know? She had gained the weight back she had lost from her drug years. Her cheeks were full again, eyes no longer sunken and skin no longer sallow. No, no he couldn't know. He didn't give her a look that told her he knew. He just looked…bored.

That was something she could deal with.

She pocketed the coin and felt the others jingle in her pocket. If she got enough, maybe she could get some snack cakes. Or gum.

Med-x.

She stopped herself there, sucking in a breath rather sharply. She ended the conversation, simply choosing not to respond. He understood, or felt no need to question it. She was loud around so many people, laughing because it filled the holes in her heart, but around God she let herself be swallowed by his stillness. It was strange, the way they fit together. He still scared her, but at least she felt something.

Something.

Though they had been walking in a moderately comfortable silence, as they turned a corner, God spoke.

"You are tired, human." If he meant it as a question, it hadn't come across that way.

"Beatrice," she corrected. "Beatrice Luck."

He made a grumbling sound deep within his throat. "You are tired, _Beatrice_."

"Been runnin' round here for nearly a fuckin' day. Or, I'd guess. Hard to tell time with this damned Cloud blotting out the sky, 'v course I'm tired." Though her words were aggressive at face value, he seemed to understand that he shouldn't be offended by them. That was one thing she liked about God.

"Then why have you not taken time to rest?" He asked, acting as though it were the most obvious thing.

She kept moving forward even as he stopped to look around. The feeling in her legs had disappeared and she was only vaguely aware that she was still walking. "'Cause I got shit to do." She was fairly sure he rolled his eyes though she couldn't see it.

"And what happens when you overestimate your abilities and find yourself pinned down without the strength to get out?"

"That's what you're here for." He didn't respond and when she glanced back, she found he was just staring at her. "Or, maybe not. Fine, fine, what would you have me do?"

"Sleep."

"I never would have guessed." It was her turn to stare at him.

He made that grumbling noise of his again and it still shot blind fear straight through her. The only other time she had heard that sound was right before she was rushed by one with a sledge hammer. She sighed and looked around. Then, turning, she headed for the nearest complex.

"Help me pull off these boards." Propping her spear on the clay wall, she grabbed a rotted board with her bare hands and broke it off with a grunt.

He moved forward, placed a hand on her shoulder, and pushed her away. His hands were larger, muscles more intense, and while she was quick with it he was much faster. "Must you pick a door that has been boarded up?" He popped the pieces of wood off without so much as breaking his calm speech pattern.

She opted to lean against the wall, feeling the jumpsuit chafe awkwardly on her back and thighs. Though she walked the line of hallucination inducing exhaustion, she kept her eyes open, vigilant in making sure nothing startled them. The last thing they needed was a fight.

"I figure it's less likely to have any of the haunts in there. What are those things by the way?"

"The workers who once lived here. They have…changed. I've heard them called 'Ghost People' now."

He grunted and pulled the final board off. The door opened and she peered inside. When nothing moved, she led the way in and up to the second floor. Though the bedroom had a wall of windows that should have worried anyone, they had been boarded up. If the Ghost People hadn't touched them by now, she doubted they would just because she was in there. Then again, she should really have learned to stop being so optimistic about her luck by now.

The bedroom was large enough to accommodate God without much problem. The floorboards were old and dirty, but it was nothing Beatrice hadn't seen before. Paper peeled off of the walls and she sat her spear down once more. This time, she didn't plan on picking it up again so soon.

Unzipping her jumpsuit, she shrugged her shoulders and arms out of it and stretched. Scratching her hairy pits for a moment, she looked at her arm. The wound was still there, the dark red spreading across her arm and turning more in to a deep purple where the wound was most bulbous.

The wound drew his attention, yet he opted to remain silent. His eyes scanned over her arms, over the scars that told her life story. Some had aged with time, turning white against her warm skin while others still looked fleshy- pink.

"What are you doing?"

"Hmm?" She looked at God.

He motioned vaguely at her. "Your clothes."

"I'm gettin' comfortable. Fuckin' thing doesn't fit right." Taking the limp sleeves in her hands, she tied them around her hips and decided that was good enough.

She had no problem showing skin, letting the world see the road map of scars that ran along her torso and arms, the old wounds on her back and shoulders that came from everything from burns to Deathclaws to her own silly mistakes. She was proud of them. She was a survivor.

Plopping down on the massive bed, she heard the springs squeak. It wasn't the most comfortable bed, but it was a bed. Kicking her boots off, she sent them flying across the room where they hit the wall next to where God was sitting and knocked dust in to the air. God did not look amused by her antics and he made no effort to hide it.

"Are you always so grumpy?" Beatrice asked, pulling the contents of her pockets out.

"Are you always so loud?" God countered.

"Yeah, actually." She grinned at him, feeling her eyes shut for just a moment too long. Sighing, Beatrice stretched her aching arms and gathered the odd conglomeration of items to set them on the small table beside the bed.

"I'm surprised you haven't gotten killed yet."

"You 'n me both, buddy." She chuckled, the sound ending in a warm hum. "You gonna sleep?"

"No." He answered.

"Oh. Well, if you get bored, feel free to look around for a backpack or some food." Lifting a hand, she attempted to adjust her collar once more only to realize there was something on the edge. She scratched at it and looked at her fingers.

Dried blood.

She was bleeding. The realization made her feel sick. She needed to get this thing off. He had responded but she didn't catch his answer. Figuring he had offhandedly insulted her, she ignored it and spoke once more.

"Hey God, the Ol' Man said we all had collars." She tapped the cold metal on her neck as if to prove her point, "where's yours?"

God growled. The noise filled the room and he suddenly looked very, very irritated with her. She glanced to her spear and wondered if she could get to it before he decided to throttle her. Probably not.

Well fuck.

"The fool _ate_ it."

She blinked, clearly not having expected that answer. Drawing her fuzzy legs up on to the bed, she crossed them and watched. "_Que_?"

"Dog. He ate it. He ate it and we were _so close_. So close to leaving it all behind."

Her mind was still trying to wrap around this concept. She had seen it only once, the way his demeanor changed. Dog, was that what he called his other half? Blue eyes fell on his chest once more. She wanted to know who had craved it in there, or if he had carved it himself, and if so, which side had done it. Did it matter, though? Dog, God, whomever he was, he was the same person.

She went to remind him that Dog didn't eat it, that _he_ did, when she thought better of it. Whatever she believed didn't matter. What mattered was that he believed Dog was a separate creature from him living in the same body, what mattered was that he could break her arm between his thumb and fore finger if he was bored. This thought made her jaw clamp shut.

Her look of deep thought seemed to translate in to something sympathetic to him and he relaxed. She watched his chest cave in as he breathed out.

"It doesn't matter. Go to sleep, Beatrice."

Scooting back on the bare bed, she let herself lie down. Her hair sprawled around her and she loosely crossed her arms about her chest. The fact that the collar was impossibly uncomfortable didn't even strike her. Eyes shutting she felt herself drift almost instantly.

One thing stopped her.

"God?" she asked again.

He grunted in acknowledgement.

"Thank you." Not feeling the need to elaborate, she let the words hang in the air.

The response she got was silence. God could not remember the last time someone had thanked him. He waited until her breathing slowed, waited until her heart rate fell so low he almost thought it stopped, and he finally answered.

"You're welcome."


	4. Chapter 4

If Beatrice had any dreams that night, they were not ones she remembered. Lips parted, she breathed deeply, breath rasping in her throat as loud and awkward snores. Everything was black. Existence meant nothing. There was no heat, no cold, no struggle or pain and in the action of feeling nothing at all, she found nirvana. She wanted to stay there in a world where there was no Cloud, in a world where she wasn't constantly worrying about those terrible creatures or the bomb on her throat.

So she slept.

She slept for hours, fell so deep in to the nothingness of her own mind that she was able to ignore the drop in temperature, for a while at least. Having lost all sense of time, having no idea how long she had been out, even as she started to come-to she did her damned best to ignore it.

Flashes of memories twisted in her mind. The day she met Chip, the day her nephew was born. Seeing Andrew's body, killed for just ten caps in his pocket. Hearing a courier got shot and knowing it was Chip. Being sure she'd never see his stupid smile again.

The day she saw hi-.

Her stomach was growling, aching so bad she felt a sound of agony escape her lips without actually realizing she had made any sort of noise. She was still snoring like a beast, giving Deathclaws a run for their money even as she shivered. God she was cold. A numb and mostly limp arm reached out blindly for a blanket but found nothing.

From her back, she turned on her side, wrapping her arms around herself as her knees drew up to her chest.

She heard something somewhere, a voice telling her words she couldn't make out and she ignored it completely. Her pip-boy had gone off, the old man had been telling her to get moving, but she settled for making an awkward choking sound on her own breath before she continued snoring. Her head turned, pressing farther in to the old mattress that smelled like alcohol and death.

It smelled like home. With that, she was able to almost convince herself that she was home, back in her little piece of the Mojave that belonged just to her.

Something touched her and she felt herself being shifted. She would have yanked away if she had the strength to do so and if the thing touching her wasn't so warm. There was another shift and she felt something being draped across her, scratchy and rough on her skin. She shivered once more, heard something by her ear, and reluctantly decided to wake up.

Pressing the palms of her hands to her eyes, she turned to roll on to her back and felt something very firm block her way. Laying awkwardly in the bed, she finally removed her hands and stared up at the Nightkin.

He stared back, sitting on the bed. There was something different in his eyes, a sense of worry she wasn't used to.

"You locked Dog away, but then release Dog. Want know why." The voice that spoke wasn't the one she knew.

It was meeker, more unstable.

"The hell?" She grumbled, feeling her own voice rasp in her throat. She was groggy and her vision hadn't even cleared up yet.

"Dog want know why human released him. Does Master want dog to help human?"

She squinted at him, staring long and hard at his face. It was the face of God, familiar in so many ways, the face she had already become moderately accustomed to looking at, yet, it did not belong to him. The eyes were wrong. They did not hate the world, did not hold it at arms length. These eyes cared too much.

This was not God.

An uncomfortable feeling landed in her gut.

"Your Master?" Bracing one hand on the bed, she sat up and leaned forward. Legs crossing, the rugged blanket fell off and in to her lap. That must have meant the Old Man. "Uh. Yeah, yeah he put me in charge. Said ya had to work with me, listen to what I say."

Dog seemed to consider this, heavy brows furrowing. There was something about her voice, a natural confidence that made her easy to believe. "Dog can do that. Dog can follow Master's orders and listen to human. Human let Dog out, locked voice away, that mean human nice."

The redhead stretched. While she slept, her muscles had tensed up, leaving her aching. Hurting. "Dog, what happened? How did you come –er- out?" Shit was that the right way to phrase it? Would he be offended?

"Master spoke, sent other voice back in to cage and released Dog." He seemed pleased about this. "Voice quiet now, pain in arm keeping him away."

Beatrice blanched, cursing in her mind. She had told God she wouldn't lock him away again. But, this wasn't her fault. The Old Man, it was him, he had come on her pip-boy without warning. She hadn't put God away, not intentionally. Shit was he going to be mad at her?

Dog seemed to read her expression of contemplation and he grabbed her forearm a bit harder than he meant to. He watched her flinch, pain flickering in her blue eyes, but he didn't let go. "Don't send Dog back in cage. Dog doesn't want to go away again. Please don't do it. Dog doesn't like cage." It was fear that colored his words, made his speech pick up in pace.

She winced at his touch. "Hey, hey, relax." She tried to sound soothing. "I'm not going to lock you away until you feel better about it, okay? We can talk about it when you trust me more."

He gave a slow, tentative nod.

"How 'bout you let me get up 'n get ready 'n then we'll handle this. How does that sound?"

"Sound…good. Dog like human."

The simplicity of the creature didn't sit well with her. There was a natural danger to him, something that made her feel like she was in danger just by being in the room with him. But more than that, he needed someone to follow. People blindly following anyone left her feeling dirty.

She looked at her skin. Damn, she really was dirty.

Blood flaked off of her arms, dirt and grime mixing with sweat to give her a second layer of skin, a greasy film. Lifting on to her feet, she stepped off of the bed and felt her feet stick to the floor below her.

At the end of the bed was a backpack. She stared at for a moment, mouth hinging open as she had been preparing to say something to Dog. The backpack caught her off guard and she thought for a moment.

"Dog, did you get this?"

The Nightkin shifted to look before he shook his head.

If not Dog…then God must have gotten it for her. She wasn't sure if he had done it to just stop her complaining or actually help her, but she wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth- whatever the fuck that meant.

"Oh." She breathed the sound before shaking her head, pushing the thought away. "I'm gonna see if the bathroom has any workin' water. Just, uh, wait here okay?"

Dog nodded. "Yes, okay."

Eerie. Turning, she headed in to the adjoining room and just the door. Her stomach hurt so bad it was hard to walk, but she powered through. Shower first, eat second.

Her mind flickered back to the pile of gold slot coins on the end-table. She thought she had seen a vending machine not too far from here.

Yeah, that could work.

The bathroom had a mostly broken mirror, not that she really cared, but the tub with the shower head seemed to be relatively intact. Stepping on the broken tile, ignoring the pain in her feet, she twisted a knob and watched as the shower spurted, gurgled, and finally spilled water from the head. The pressure sucked balls, but the water was clean and she couldn't really hope for any more. It was working, and that alone was enough to please her.

The hot water didn't work, but icy showers were nothing new.

She quickly untied the sleeves of her jumpsuit from around her waist and wriggled out of it. Pealing off her bra and boxers, she sat them aside and stepped in to the tub. The water washed over her, jolting her awake and stinging her eyes with just how cold it was.

It felt like life.

Grabbing the ancient bar of vault-tech soap that unfortunately had a scent, she scrubbed down. She worked at her arms and legs, watching the grime form in clumps before it slid off her body disappeared down the drain. She scrubbed until her skin was rubbed pink and raw, and as she scrubbed, she sang whatever song came to mind. Flipping her hair over, she ran her soapy hands through the tangles, working until she feared the water was about to run out, until she was finally clean.

As the last of the suds washed away, she turned off the water and stepped back out. She was shaking, quivering, but she was clean. Wringing her hair out, she shook it like a wet dog in order to loosen up her soaking curls. It would dry on its own time.

Pulling her undergarments back in to place, Beatrice paused.

She looked at her arm.

It was infected, anyone with half a brain could realize that. What she had to do was clean it out. Testing the sink, pleased when she saw that too worked, she decided now was as good of a time as any to drain it.

The door opened and she stepped out. The arms of the jumpsuit was still tied around her waist and she was holding her arm. Bloody lymphatic fluid and yellow gunk was washed down the sink, but now she had a fresh and open wound.

Dog was still sitting there, waiting.

Digging through the backpack she found that it not only had another bottle of water in it as well as the items she had kept shoved in her pocket, but gauze as well. She made quick work of wrapping her arm, hoping that this time things would end better for her. As she worked, she hummed. It filled the silence of the air. It was noise.

"Human," there was almost a whining tone to Dog's voice, "Dog hungry."

"I know sweetie, I'm hungry too." She had hoped the backpack would also have food in it, but she wasn't so lucky. "We'll get somethin' in a little bit."

"But Dog hungry _now_."

The words made her uncomfortable. Shifting awkwardly, she pulled the jumpsuit in to place and the teeth zipped shut with a creaking sound. Tossing the backpack on her shoulders, she fiddled with the straps to make sure it was secure. Just as she was about to do a quick look around the house, there was a sound.

She didn't move and Dog fell silent save for his heavy rasping breathing.

Slowly, Beatrice turned her head to look down the stairwell, craning to try and see in to the gloom.

Reaching out she grabbed her knife-spear and stepped back. Dog didn't seem perturbed. That in mind, she got a good grip and stepped out of the bedroom. A hand lifted, fingers brushing against the rotting wall as she descended with brisk steps. Angled half to the side, she hunched down the lower she got. Reaching the bottom landing, she peered around the corner.

"Shit!"

Managing to lurch back just in time, a throwing spear imbedded itself in the wall behind her. While she had managed to stop her skull from being impaled, she found that the cosmic knife taped to the end had sliced off a lock of her hair.

Turning back to face the attacker, the ghost person, she watched it for a moment, the way it shambled towards her. Jaw clenching, teeth grinding against themselves, she waited. Even though she was prepared, though she knew what was going to happen, it still shook her nerves to the core when the creature closed the distance between them with a single leap. Stepping back she found the stairs and jabbed her spear at it.

It dodged. Moving forward it threw a punch at her and beside her ear, she heard the sound of a bear trap snapping shut. She bobbed to dodge its blows, working it in to the exact position she wanted it to be in. Twisting, knees bent and on the balls of her feet, Beatrice was about to jab her spear in to the creature's throat when a deafening roar seemed to stop both of them.

There was a thundering shaking that left Beatrice unstable on her feet and that was the moment she realized she had made it half way up the stairs.

Dog was charging down towards them, roaring, and that was the moment she decided this was it. This was how she was going to die. It had been only a matter of time from the beginning, after all.

It was instinct that made her move. She threw herself forward, curling in on herself as she barely managed to slip under the ghost person's arm. She tumbled down the stairs. Hitting the wall at an odd angle, she stared up at the ceiling for just a moment.

Then, she realized that Dog hadn't stopped charging.

Ghost caught in his massive paw like hands, he had been unable to stop himself.

"Shit shit shitshitSHITSHITSHIT!" She was yelling as she scrambled to her feet. The worn down grips on her boots made it hard for her to find any purchase on the ground. Stumbling forward, one hand pressing on the ground, she tucked and tumbled out of the way.

Landing a crouched position, hair strewn across her face and shoulders like a wild mane, she looked back only once before she darted out of the house.

Over the sound of her labored breathing and pounding heart, she heard bones pop between Dog's maw and the screaming of the creature that had been unfortunate enough to be caught by the starving nightkin.

Skidding outside of the home, she slammed the door shut and looked around. The streets were deceptively empty and she kept her back pressed against the dirty clay wall. Still, she could feel people watching her, like spiders crawling up her spine and twisting around her neck with spindly legs. Heart pounding in her chest, straining to burst out of her ribs, she didn't dare let go of her weapon, didn't dare let herself relax for even a moment.

Alert eyes darted, scanning her surroundings, and she felt the pain from her fall beginning to blossom in her limbs.

Using her hand like a wide toothed comb, she ran it through her hair and shoved it out of her face. She could still hear Dog, the sounds muffled but none the less disgusting. Her stomach lurched and she was forced to lean forward, hand bracing on her knee as her stomach tried to purge itself.

Only, there was nothing there.

Dry heaving, she tried to settled the convulsions that left her body shaking. Spitting acidic saliva on the ground, she shut her eyes and shivered. Her esophagus burned and the aching in her abdomen almost made her topple over. Yet, she still stood. Wiping her mouth on the back of her hand, she stood up straight and let the nausea settle down.

The sounds had stopped.

Moving away from the wall, she stepped out into the open street, facing the door in preparation. Her nerves still weren't all there, but she didn't have much of a choice at this point. Dog was a massive creature and the odds of him being satisfied with one person were slim to none. No, she was next. She knew she was next.

The door she had slammed shut opened and Dog crouched down, squeezing through before lifting once more, shoulders hunched and rolling low. A stench hit her and, for a moment, she almost hurled again. Full lips rolling in to a thin line, her nostrils flared and she realized what it was.

In his hand, Dog held an arm. Green blood oozed from the end, dripping like sludge on to the ground beside him.

It was like something from her nightmares.

He took a step towards her and, instead of popping her head off and jamming it in his mouth he held the arm out to her. The limp hand flapped at her, landing at an awkward and broken angle.

"Human said she was hungry." He offered an explanation simply. "Dog fix."

She brought a hand to her mouth as he shoved the arm closer to her. Her stomach lurched again and it took every ounce of effort she had to not dry heave once more. Beatrice had eaten worse things before in her life, things that others would condemn her for, but this was a step too far even for her.

"Uh, listen Dog, that's," she stepped back, "_real_ nice 'a ya to do, but, uh- you should eat it instead. Yer bigger than me, you need more energy."

He looked almost sad. "Human sure?"

Beatrice craned her head away from the offering. "Yeah, yes, I am _very_ sure."

That seemed to pacify him and, without warning, he took a bite that left half of the arm in his mouth, bone snapping too easily.

Blood rushing out of her face, she covered her mouth with a hand and turned away as she dry heaved once more.

Dog wasn't terribly concerned.

Gathering herself as quickly as she could, the ex-raider stumbled away from him and spat to the side once more. She had seen animalistic people before, had lived with them, had been one, but no one was ever like this. He was a simple creature, determined and terrifying.

He muttered to himself as she walked and Beatrice made an active effort not to listen to him.

She was fatigued, more so than she should have been after a blood rushing fight like that, and she knew why. She needed food, now.

Finding a vending machine proved not to be too difficult. In the dark smog, the glowing blue screen caught her attention. Where she had once been schlumping along, Beatrice closed the distance to the machine with a quick jog. Bracing one hand on it, she looked at the screen. Fuzzy images of food and drink greeted her along with the prices tacked on at the side and she could feel her mouth watering already. Swallowing the thick saliva, she fished out her coins and dropped them in.

Dog watched curiously, looming over her shoulder as the machine produced a can and a bottle of water.

It was still cold.

Gathering the items, she grinned at Dog as though she had just been given the key to New Vegas. Not quite understanding her excitement, Dog grinned back, though he looked much more intimidating than she did.

Not even bothering to find a better place to sit, Beatrice dropped down beside the machine, keeping her back to the wall. Setting the spear aside, she pried the can open and groaned quietly. Vienna sausages were never her favorite, but right then she would have murdered for it. She had never smelled anything so delicious.

It took her less than five minutes for her to scarf the can down, barely chewing before she swallowed the old contents and rubbery chunks of meat. Occasionally washing it down with the cold bottle of purified water, she just barely kept from choking. There was no grace in the way she ate, or how she wiped her mouth clean with her fingers and licked the salty flavoring from her skin.

She never once shut her eyes. To do so would mean she was comfortable, and that was one thing she was not. No, even with Dog there she was ready to jump at any moment, muscles drawn taunt in preparation. She was hyper aware of everything moving around her, of the wind that shifted the cloud and made papers and trash flutter down the roads.

Standing, she dropped the can and twisted her arm to fit the water bottle inside her pack. Adjusting the straps once more to ensure it was secure, she motioned with her arm for Dog to follow.

"Come on, we're almost there."

He trailed behind her, obediently, and made a quiet whining sound in the back of his throat. "Human is going to put Dog back in cage soon?"

"I have to." Her answer was quiet, if a bit reluctant. She rounded a corner. "But I ain't gonna do it until you trust me. I gotta put you back in, but I'll let you back out too."

"Really?" There was a disbelieving hopefulness in his question.

"Really. We're teammates in this, partners, I gotta trust you 'n you gotta trust me or we won't make it outta here 'n one piece. Got that?"

He nodded just as she reached the fountain and, for her, that was good enough. She let out a breath, feeling her shoulders deflate slightly. The hologram still stood there, her voice welcoming and soothing. Dog shifted, looking unsure.

"Human-."

"Bea." She corrected. "Just…just call me Bea, alright?"

He made that whining sound again. "Bea going to leave Dog here? Alone with voice? Voice beginning to get loud again, yelling at dog, at Bea."

She blanched at that. So he was mad.

Shit.

"I won't be long, Dog. I promise. Just…take a seat on the fountain and wait for me to come back. Don't leave, don't do nothin', got it?"

He moved to where she had pointed and she watched him lower his hulking form on to the low edge of the fountain. With his knees bent, arms resting on them, he looked like a child who had been told he had to stay in time-out.

Beatrice wasn't sure if this thought was endearing or creepy.

Turning away from him, she offered one last wave with the hand that wasn't holding her spear and headed down one of the paths she had yet to explore. She already had to break in to a two-hundred year old casino with a Nightkin with personality issues, she wasn't sure her next companion could make things much worse.

But she had been wrong before.


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N: I think I'm going to try and keep my chapter updates a little shorter than they have been in the past for easier to read chunks. In addition, any feed back would be marvelous. I want to make sure I'm not rambling too much, the characters are in character, and the story is making sense.  
>And, as always, thanks for reading if you've made it this far<strong>_

* * *

><p>A step creaked and Beatrice looked down just before the rotted wood gave way under her weight. Her leg shot through the broken step as the other twisted awkwardly. She twisted, one hand slapping against a higher step to brace herself as the other kept a tight grip on her weapon. Breathing hard, she paused, listening.<p>

The loud noise hadn't drawn anything to her, not yet.

Getting her balance back, she pulled her leg out and sighed. The jumpsuit had protected her, for the most part, and while she hadn't torn her skin to Two-Sun, she was sure she'd be nice and bruised up in an hour. It stung.

"Fucker." She grumbled. Testing her leg, putting weight on it, she decided that it was good enough and continued on.

This part of the Madre was different. The smog was thicker there, the homes more abundant. She had been able to scavenge more, though as soon as she started getting comfortable the Cloud started to fill the room and she was forced to leave. It wasn't that it knew where she was, she knew that much, it was just her damned luck working against her.

Continuing up the steps, she stopped just before she reached the landing. Her eyes scanned the room for what she knew had to be there. She had learned quickly that, aside from the abundance of Cloud, this place was riddled with traps.

Soft, blinking red lights caught her attention. At the base of the landing, landmines waited for her, or for some young adventurer to go running blindly in there. She had done that, at first, had barely managed to throw herself over the back of a couch and hide behind it to duck for cover before the blast went off, shaking the room and deafening her for a few long minutes after it was over.

She still smelled of smoke and sulfur.

But she learned quickly. She adapted. Lunging forward she disarmed them with quick, calloused fingers, tossing them to the side once the threat was gone. A sense of pride filled her once more and she grinned. Confident, she strolled around the open bedroom space, checking drawers and looking in cabinets, only stopping when something caught her attention.

Hidden in the very top of a dresser was a suitcase, a glowing hand marking the space just above it. The suitcase, in contrast to the rest of the room, looked rather well cared for. It wasn't moldy or covered with mildew. It looked out of place.

Reaching up, she grabbed the handle and yanked it down, tossing it on to the single twin bed.

"A cache." The words came from her as she unclasped the metal locks and pulled it open. Her eyes lit up at what she saw. While the guns and ammunition were all but completely useless to her unless she became truly desperate, the suitcase also held two stimpaks, a new roll of bandages, and a few bottles of water.

Trying not to giggle in her joy, she wasted no time in packing the items away with no care for who the cache might belong to. She had found it, it was hers. Besides, it wasn't as though the Ghost People were smart enough to store caches.

Then again, she doubted they were smart enough to use explosives and traps.

The thought made her pause and she looked back to the pile of landmines.

Deciding to ignore the eerie feeling that came over her, she turned away once more. There was no need to dwell on the mysterious person that had been so eager to hurt others or, maybe, protect themselves. She had a job to do, and with how often she seemed to be getting lost, she needed to focus if she was going to get it done.

Wooden planks stretched out from the balcony, tarnished and questionably built, they hit the tiled roof of the next villa over and that, she decided, was the obvious way to go. Confident in her new abilities to not only see but stop various traps, she strolled forward, spear resting on her shoulder casually.

There was a slight tug, something that caught on her foot and she had just a second to realize what had happened.

Tripwire.

A blast went off and she had no chance of moving out of the way, though that didn't stop her from trying. The hidden gun had fired and now sat smoking as Beatrice managed to catch herself on the opening to the balcony, bracing herself there. Pain didn't hit, not right away. A burning sensation spread from her side like a crackling spider web, so white hot and intense she had to shut her eyes.

It was as though someone had sucker punched her in the side with a Taser.

Gritting her teeth, she pulled her hand from the wooden door frame. Her short and uneven nails had broken, lost in the woodwork. Blood was beading on various parts of her fingerprints. Looking down at the wound, she saw that she hadn't been shot straight on, instead, the bullet hat grazed her side. Shredding her skin and her jumpsuit, flesh hung awkwardly, limply, and blood spilled out to stain her clothes. She pressed her hand to the wound and leaned against the door frame.

Stimpaks were hard to come by, what if something worse than this happened? Could she really justify using one?

The sharp, fresh jolt of pain told her that yes, yes she could.

Hand now glistening red, she wiped it on the pants of her jumpsuit and reached back, Grabbing the first smooth, cool syringe she could find, she pulled it out and removed the cap with her teeth.

A strange sense of guilt filled her as she injected herself. She never had much, she was accustomed to carrying her life on her back, and this somehow seemed wasteful.

The blood didn't stop flowing, though it did slow.

It only took her a moment to patch up the wound with a fresh bandage and ducktape. With the pain starting to lessen, she shoved her hair out of her face once more and half jogged across the wooden planks that formed a walkway. Her foot hit the angled roof and she continued up without breaking her stride, powerful muscles propelling her forward until she stood on the beam. Not too far away, she could see another building just as high up. Light came from a single room in it, bright and shocking against the shadowy buildings around it.

That was where she was going to go.

The sound of her shoes skidding against the shingles was crisp but oddly silent as she slid down the roof, leaping down to land on the balcony below. She had her bearings, now. Surely it wouldn't be too painful to get over there.

The room smelled of smoke. Sweet and musky, it filled her nose and burned her eyes. The landing under her creaked and she shut the door behind her. It gave a crisp click and she inhaled the smell of cigarettes deeply. Though Beatrice never smoked, as that was the one vice she never allowed herself, she had always enjoyed the scent. There was something about it that felt welcoming, calm and warm. No one would smoke unless they were comfortable where they were, unless they weren't afraid of leaving a trail.

How tribal of her to think like that.

She gave a quiet scoff and took another step in to the small room.

Music was playing softly, twisting with the smoke, filling the room with warmth. With what she had just been through, she needed a break and this might have been it. Her side still ached, but the bleeding had stopped and she hadn't checked under the bandage since she put it on, but the lack of pain surely meant she was doing better.

Or she had become numb to it.

The room was old and what struck her most was the large hole in the far wall that showed the expanse of the villas below. Across the rooftops, Christmas lights hung, glittering and sparkling above like stars. Until then, she hadn't realized how much she had missed the stars at night, the endless expanse of Mojave sky. She longed for the cold breeze and the thick darkness that was lit up by distant gunfire and the swinging lanterns of passing caravans.

"Are you just going to stand there like a fool, or are you going to come take a seat?" It was the man in the chair that spoke. His voice was smoother than agave nectar, filling the air around her, drawing her in. There was a rasping quality to it, something like the after burn of whiskey.

Setting her backpack down beside where she propped her spear, Beatrice moved forward. Reaching out, she ran her hand along the old armchair as she rounded the edge and sat down. The two chairs were aimed towards the hole in the wall and, for a moment, that was all she could look at.

"Beautiful, isn't she? Ah, the Sierra Madre hasn't changed much despite the time. Two hundred years and I'm still not tired of the view, though it was better before the War and the tourists were much friendlier." He sounded wistful and she finally looked at him.

Reclining easily in his chair, the ghoul looked out across the rooftops to where the casino loomed like an impenetrable fortress. In one hand, he held a tumbler of whiskey; in the other a dying cigarette gave off a soft glow. One leg was crossed so his ankle rested on his knee, black suit dirty, torn, but impeccably made. From the cut, even she could tell that it had been fitted just to him. He sighed and turned his head to look at her and there was something so familiar about his features that she didn't respond. She saw herself reflected in his sunglasses, her own eyes staring back at her in place of his.

"Hmm, value silence do you? Or maybe you're just too dumb to talk. Either way, I wouldn't recommend getting up from that chair." With his drink, he motioned to where she was sitting before taking a sip of the old whiskey.

"It may not be the most comfortable, but the cushion is just for show. Under that is a bomb, and if you so much as move too fast, I'll blow your ass so far through your head it will turn the moon cherry-pie red." He had taken a drag of his cigarette, held it for a moment, then blew it out of what was left of his nose. A slow grin found its way on to his features, there was something devious about the way she couldn't see his eyes, about the way the smoke twisted in the air.

He looked pleased with himself.

Beatrice didn't look shocked. It was hard to surprise her after all she had seen in just a small handful of days. "Well if you wanted my attention, you have it, but a handsome guy like you wouldn't have had to try so hard ta' be honest." The words came with her signature grin, a vandal smile.

A brow of his twitched and she wished she could see his eyes, read what was there behind the reflective surface of his sunglasses.

He grinned.

"Ah, now that is what I've missed, a rapt audience." A chuckle accompanied his words. "I've seen people come in here, morons, idiots, but you," he motioned to her with his drink, "you I like."

"Your words warm my heart, doll-face, I promise. However, I think having a sip of that whiskey might help a bit more."

He didn't respond for a moment, then he too chuckled. "I may be in the entertainment business, but I'm no fool. If you are trying to butter me up, I'm afraid it won't work, partner. I've had far prettier and younger girls with much smoother tongues try to do it before and it never worked for them."

Still, he was compelled. This woman looked like she had gone through Hell and back and, if she had found his traps, she might very well have. Still, she grinned like nothing happened, spoke easily like the dames he remembered, though that was where her similarities to them ended. He offered her his tumbler.

"If I were trying to butter you up, you wouldn't be able to resist." She grabbed the glass of whiskey he had offered her and took a swig. It wasn't good, but it burned like a bitch and that was what she needed. She needed to feel the pain, to wash down the Cloud and ash that coated the inside of her throat. "And it's Luck, by the way, Beatrice Luck. But I'll let a handsome guy like you call me Bea 'f ya want."

"You say that like I give a single iota as to who you are." He took the glass back from her. Not even he could deny that his ego was slightly stroked by her words, her unbiased attention. "I hate to cut this short, tourist, but I have to say that I've had enough with the pleasantries, you're here because you want something. Everyone wants something, and judging by the lovely little bowtie you have there, you're here because the Old Man has managed to rope you in to his terrible scheme and he wants you to get to me as well."

"Well you've pretty much summed it up, don't see why I gotta say anythin' at all." She mused.

"Thing is, you're not the first pretty face he's brought in. Thing is, no one else has been worth it. They've all failed and I can't imagine you'll be any different. Really I don't see a reason I shouldn't just detonate the bomb now and end it and—why are you staring at me with those big blues of yours?"

This time, it was her turn to look pleased with herself. She was leaning back in the chair despite the fact it was digging in to her with jagged edges under the frail cushion. "Because I know something you don't, doll-face."

"And what exactly would that be?"

"Our collars," she tapped her own, "they're connected. You kill me, you kill yerself."

That gave him pause. Then, he laughed. It was warm, and he shook his head slightly. "Ah, I knew it. I knew marriage would catch up with me some day. Dashing man like me can't escape it, it seems. Well, if I'm going to have a ball-and-chain, at least you aren't completely unintelligent. You might just be useful after all. Here's the thing, you don't like Elijah either, do you?"

"Can't say I really care for crusty assholes who order me 'round, no."

"Good, good, then you and I are in the same boat." His voice lowered and he leaned forward to speak to her, one elbow propping on the arm of his chair. "So here's where being my partner pays off. See, I know something Elijah doesn't, how to get in to the Casino vault. Oh sure, he knows how to open it, but after that he's stumped. I'd hate to give away the big finale so I'll just give you the short of it – piece together Vera Keyes' song and the Sierra Madre opens its legs, we're in business." He made an opening gesture with his hands, grinning at the redhead. "And you're on my side, I may be a betting man but I like knowing my odds. An ace in the hole. Lady Luck."

She listened to his words carefully, absorbed the information as best as she could to piece it together. Vera Keyes, the name meant nothing to her, but this just added a new layer of things to do.

"Look, I don't want whatever's down in there. If we get there, you can have it babe, all yours. I just want out of here." She shook her head slightly as she spoke.

The fat that she didn't want the gold, didn't even want to see what was there surprised him. That's why everyone else came. They all let their greed get the better of them, and he let them destroy one another. From behind his sunglasses, he blinked before looking pleased.

"All the better, then. I believe this marriage will work out just fine, Partner."

"Of course, me doin' somethin' for you means you gotta do somethin' for me."

"I'd be a fool to think otherwise." He made a fluid motion with his hand, waving her on to continue as he stood, adjusting his white bowtie.

Taking his lead, she stood as well. In vain, she tried to dust off her jumpsuit. She'd need a replacement soon. "I don't need much, just the assurance you'll watch my back 'n answer a few questions 'bout this place for me."

Taking his last swig of whiskey, he chased it down with a deep inhale from his cigarette. Dropping the nub to the ground, he crushed it with the toe of his foot, snuffing it out as he breathed swirls of smoke out where his nose once was. "That's all? Hmm, yes I believe I can agree to that. The least I can do is _try_ to answer your questions, I suppose."

"Well, then I'll be happy to act as your ball and chain." The words came with a wink that was all too easy. She reached out to grasp his hand. "What'cha say your name was again?"

He matched her firm shake. "Ah, I remember when people didn't have to ask me that. They'd see my face or name in lights and know right away. The name is Dean, Dean Domino."

The ghoul grinned.


	6. Chapter 6

Her heart dropped and, for a moment, she couldn't speak. Hands still connected, she stared at him, eyes moving over his rotted features slowly. Despite the ghoulification that had ravaged his face and left him a patchwork of skin and muscle, he still had a strong jaw, a charismatic smile that made him look deliciously devious. She knew that smile, had seen it dozens of times. It was a smile that charmed people without care, one that drew people in without becoming attached.

It was manipulative. It was hers.

"I take it by that look you know who I am, partner?" Oh yes, he looked absolutely pleased with himself. There was a sense of pride that filled his shoulders and, until then, she hadn't realized he was nearly five inches taller than her, putting him close to six-foot-one.

"I-." Two languages under her belt and she still couldn't find the words to express herself. Dean Domino. He was _the_ Dean Domino, the King of Swing, in the…mostly flesh. "Like your music."

His grin widened and he chuckled. Withdrawing his hand, he gave a casual wave. "I'm not surprised. It wasn't like I was famous for no reason like the rest of those hacks. I had _talent_." Giving a wistful sigh, he adjusted his sunglasses and looked at her.

He wasn't quite sure what he thought of her just yet. She was a pawn of his to use in this twisted game, of course, a means to an end, but there was something almost endearing about the way she looked at him. There was no mistaking that look, and it was one he hadn't seen in two hundred years. It was admiration, pure and concentrated. He had her attention and was more than happy to let her indulge his ego.

"Had? You act like you don't sing anymore."

"Oh I don't, not so much. The Ghost People," he glanced to the hole once more, "they're drawn to the noise and they are not the sort of crowd I enjoy preforming for. Their standing ovations tend to turn…murderous."

Shrugging the backpack on to her shoulders once more, she took a moment to gather her hair, running her hands through it to keep it out of her face. "That's a damned shame if I've ever heard it. The radio don't got many of your songs, but man the ones they do." She whistled, low and smooth, filling the space that no words could truly express. Grabbing up her spear once more, she winced as she turned her head, the collar cutting deeper in to her neck.

Taking the lead, she opened the door to head back down the stairs and stopped. Just beyond the threshold, the Cloud bubbled and boiled in the air, so thick she couldn't even see the bottom of the stairwell. It had moved in while they were busy. Hesitating, she looked back to Dean.

"Well, what are you waiting for, partner, the Madre isn't getting any younger."

She didn't want to step in to the toxin. It had ravaged her lungs already and she had been coughing up red colored phlegm as her body rejected the Cloud. Already, it was burning her eyes, making tears well up in them. The Cloud was growing, crawling up towards them.

Beatrice shut the door and turned away. He lifted a brow, looking at her curiously. It wasn't the Cloud that worried her, not nearly as much as what she knew was in it. The Cloud was never empty and the clicking of gas masks told her that.

Heading to the hole, she gripped the side and stepped on the edge. Glancing back at Dean, she winked and jumped forward. Leaping on to the tiled roof to the side, she landed in a crouch, cracking the old stone as her hand brushed the roof. She was spry and had clearly done this before.

Dean rolled his eyes. Of course she would prefer taking the roofs. He had lived there long enough to know how to deal with the Cloud, knew how to help her as well, yet he hadn't offered. Well, he wasn't going to complain, it was better than facing those denizens. Making sure his cigarettes and lighter were secure in the pocket of his suit coat, he followed after her. He landed lighter, quieter. He had survived two hundred years in this place, and though he wouldn't admit it, this wasn't his first time crawling across roofs. Ugh, to think he had been diminished to this. How demeaning.

If Sinclair could see him now, he was sure he'd be laughing. That bastard.

He watched her move across the center ridge, following her with his own long stride. She was different than the others. She wasn't as quiet and unprepared as Christine had been, yet she wasn't as reckless as he knew Dog to be. She was a mixture, a creature he couldn't quite get a reading on. Though her smile told everyone she was at ease, he knew what that calculated look of warmth in her eyes was. She had long hair, wild and thick with feminine curls, but her posture was nothing but raw strength.

He hadn't left the Madre since the Cloud settled in, since his skin sloughed off in agonizing chunks and his hair fell out in his very hands. It was strange. He was still accustomed to the old world, to the smooth women with curves in all the right places, to the smell of their perfume and their lips against his. He was still used to their painted faces and coiffed hair, used to them being so pliable under his hands and silky evening dresses that came off so easily.

But it seemed women like that had died out after the War. This place, the place wherever she came from, it had a way of making everything tougher than nails.

He scoffed at the thought, absently reaching up to scratch his nose only to find it wasn't there. That still bothered him. He glanced at her as she stopped and looked around, catching the profile of her face. She had a strong jaw and high cheekbones that were covered in a constellation of freckles from sun damage, dark skin that looked oddly soft. She had a nose.

Absently, as they moved forward, Dean wondered if anyone else looked like him. He wanted to know if he was alone in this…whatever it was. She hadn't reacted harshly when she saw him, but then again she could have just been nutty for all he knew, he couldn't quite tell yet. He'd never admit it, but his appearance bothered him. He hated mirrors, had gone to extreme lengths to break everyone he came upon because the face that stared back at him was not his own. The face that stared back at him was one of a monster.

He had been handsome in his youth, though that was more than a lifetime ago.

Dean let her compliment from earlier bounce around in his head. Doll-face. He couldn't quite decide if she had been mocking him or not. Either way, he decided not to dwell too long lest he start to hate the woman. It was paranoia that made him unsure.

He would ask, he decided. Though this was his territory, this was his home, he was sure she would have some sort of information to offer him, he just had to wait for the opportune moment to do so.

And when he heard her stomach rumble, he decided that his time had come.

"Partner." He said the word smoothly as though that were actually her name.

She was cleaning the green sludge off of her blade from where she had severed the head of a ghost person who now lay limp beside two of his companions. Moderate irritation had made her eye twitch as she realized Dean had done nothing to help her. Where Dog was overly aggressive, Dean had thought it was better to just wait it out on the sidelines, to watch her charge in with an aggressive cry that was almost like a roar.

"_Que_?" She responded without looking, checking the strength of her weapon once more.

He strolled forward, standing just behind her shoulder. "Perhaps we should take a break, hmm? I know I could use a smoke and you've more than earned it."

She looked at him, smile shattering for just a moment to show how exasperated she was. Right then, she wished she had Dog instead. Sure, she had to worry about him eating her or God coming out with righteous fury, but at least they helped.

"You didn't."

Pulling his gun from the inside of his coat, he showed her the pistol. "Did you really want me firing this with you in the fray? You've been shot once, today, I didn't think you needed to be shot again." His response was mostly a lit, but she seemed to buy it.

Biting her lip in contemplation, she tasted the tang of blood feeling her chapped lips split. Looking around, she prodded the small split with her tongue as she headed to a building.

"Let's get up higher, then. Get a vantage point away from the Cloud and those undead fuckers." As she headed in to a building, peering about in search of more of Dean's traps, she spoke again. "What's wrong with them anyway? Never seen anything like it."

He scoffed. "As if I would know. I'm more concerned about what turned me in to an immortal bastard than what's keeping them going. I figure it has something to do with this damned Cloud."

Beatrice took to the stairs first, staying closer to the wall where the wood would be less likely to break under her weight. "You mean you don't know?"

"Clearly not." The response was curt. The fact that she knew something he didn't just didn't sit right with him.

"Yer a Ghoul."

He stared at the back of her curly hair, eyes narrowing dangerously behind the dark sunglasses. "Excuse me?"

"That's what they're called." She reached the top before he did. When she peered back, she didn't have the malicious grin he thought she would, instead, she seemed almost sympathetic. Friendly.

His stomach churned in distaste. Still, he followed her up and out on to the balcony and up still until they were standing on one of the few flat roofs in the Sierra Madre residential district.

"A ghoul." He repeated the word, disliking the way it felt on his tongue. Dean pulled his package of cigarettes from his coat pocket. "So, there are others like me, then?"

"Oh doll-face, there ain't no one like you." She punctuated the sentence with a wink, head tilting in a rather flirty manner. Then, she turned away from him, surveying the area like a lone sentinel as she continued to speak. "But yeah, I've met dozens of 'em. Some of 'em are pretty new, changed in the last dozen years or so from the radiation, but a lot of 'em are pre-war."

He listened, mulled her words over as he tapped a cigarette out of the old cartridge. To his great surprise, the last one fell out. With a sigh, he carelessly tossed the empty package over his shoulder and cursed his luck. Damned place.

"And it's considered normal, then?" His words, still silky smooth and accented, were spoken behind the cigarette as he held it between his teeth, grizzled hands searching for his lighter.

"Maybe not normal, but shit, what is these days?" Knees bending, Beatrice crouched down and braced herself on her left arm, only to wince in pain. The sharp jolt made her drop to a sitting position much faster than she meant to. She rubbed the wound that had still not quite healed. "No one really looks twice at ghouls though, not that I've seen. Yeah, there are some assholes who hate 'em, call them shitty names, but no one really cares about those people. They got jobs, mechanics, entertainers, comedians…shit I even know a dominatrix and man is she great."

He almost dropped his cigarette, though out of shock or horror he wasn't quite sure. Clearing his throat, he sat beside her much more elegantly. His knees popped from the motion, crackling like a bag of chips, but neither of them paid it much attention. Dean appreciated that. Finally lighting his cigarette, he took in a deep breath and held it before blowing out the smoke in one smooth line.

God that felt good.

Legs crossed, her backpack leaned on her thighs as she wrestled with a can of pork'n'beans. Dean considered offering to open it for her with his knife, but decided he didn't care enough to help out. From her pocket she produced a switchblade. She held it underhanded as she cut the can open, a tactic that struck him as odd. There were so many things about this woman that was odd.

Dean glanced at her, at this strange woman who came bursting in to the Madre with more personality than he had ever seen. She was loud, vibrant, and the difference between her and everyone else who had wandered in was the fact that her spirit wasn't broken. If she was afraid, if she was hesitant, he couldn't see it.

"You've come quite a long way, haven't you?" He wanted to know about this place, wanted to know what had carved out a woman so strong and scarred.

Beatrice didn't look at him. Instead, she treated the can like a cup and took a swig of the contents, chewing the food with abandon. It was disgustingly past its expiration date, she could practically taste the radiation, but God it was so good she couldn't have stopped eating it if she tried. She had ignored her growing hunger again in preference of moving faster, but now that she indulged it, it hit her with vengeance.

"Hmm? Yeah, guess you could say that." She smiled, pausing in her consumption to look to the heavy and low hanging sky. Through the thinner portions of the smog, she could see glimmers of starlight. "I'm from the Mojave. Place is beautiful, harsh, violent, but it's home."

It was like she was describing herself, though Dean quickly banished that thought from his mind.

"Then why are you here?"

She wiped her lips with her thumb, licking the flavoring off of it to savor the taste as she considered her answer. "Curiosity. I grew up hearin' bout this place, a piece of the Old World that was frozen in time. My trib-," she caught herself, "family called it _La Ciudad Muerta_. The Dead City. My brother, Mark, always thought he'd be the one to find it, the one to bring back the treasure lost inside. So when I heard about it, I wanted to come." She had wanted to do what Mark never got to. "Of course," she continued, "I never meant for it to happen like this. I don't remember the trip here and let me tell you, as much as I like being married to you, Dean, this ring ain't too comfortable." A finger tapped the metal around her neck.

"How did you get here, then?"

"I was gassed. Somethin' dragged me here. I only remember waking up once before I hit my head against somethin' and I was out again."

He frowned, a dry, irritated chuckle coming from his throat as he let out another puff of smoke. "That beast is still at it, then. Always heavy handed."

That got her attention. He liked having her attention. "What do you mean?"

"You're saying you don't know? I suppose all girls are still terribly foolish." He chuckled, pressing his chapped lips around the cigarette as he lit it. "Have you met that monstrosity of a creature? Calls himself Dog? Or, perhaps it was God, ugh so much effort to keep up."

Her own eyes were trained on the King of Swing. "What 'bout him?"

"You're saying you can't put it together. These lovely bowties of ours, he's the one that put them there." He probably shouldn't have sounded so amused, but he liked that look of pained surprise on her face.

Suddenly, she stopped eating. Her stomach rejected the food and it soured in her mouth. Setting the half empty can aside, she reached up to try and adjust her collar. Blood dripped down to stain her jumpsuit. God had done this. God was the one who grabbed her, the one who dragged her to this forsaken place and snapped a bomb so tightly around her throat that it burned to even exist.

He did this.

It was strange how quickly her heart could become so bitter. She thought of the Nightkin, his hulking body, how he was so cold to her. They hadn't known one another long, hell she didn't know Dean long, but there was something about shared pain and struggle that bonded people together in the blink of an eye.

And Dean, he was the one making plans with her. They had agreed to team up against Elijah, to work together in order to best the old man. He wouldn't lie to her, not if he expected to keep her on his side.

He was talking, and the words drew her out of her thoughts.

"Ah I know what that look on your face is. You can hide a lot of things, but you can't hide betrayal, never all the way at least." He chuckled, humming warmly. "I take it you've met the beast, then?"

"_Si_." The answer slipped without thought and she looked away from him. "Er- yeah. Yeah I did."

"I wouldn't worry too much, partner. It happens to the best of us, he got me too after all." The words had a venomous kindness to them. She knew what game he was playing for it was the one she played as well. His tongue was slick, silver and serpentine.

Maybe she would have bantered with him another day, would have bounced words off of his own and countered his charisma with her own, but she found no desire to do so. God had caused this, or, maybe he hadn't caused it, but he was the one who had dragged her in to it. He was the reason she was in pain, the reason she wasn't home reading a comic or out dancing with Chip. It didn't matter if Elijah had been the one pulling the reigns from the beginning, she couldn't knock Elijah's teeth in, but she could do that to God. God made choices, he was the one who could stand up for himself.

The tentative trust and companionship that had been forming dissolved.

Slowly, Beatrice stood. The smile she gave Dean was too easy, crooked and careless. The look she gave him almost made him feel like he was human again. She offered him a hand and he took it, pulling himself up. He had shaken her confidence, and that appeased him. If he could break her trust in the others, that would leave only him for her to rely on, only he would get the treasure that Sinclair had locked away.

She sighed, hands lingering for just a moment before she withdrew hers. "Well, I suppose it could be worse, we could be fighting human-like creatures that don't die all while trying not to choke to death on smog." There was a dark glimmer in her eyes at her own joke and he barked a laugh.

"Right." He shook his head slightly, holding his cigarette between his two fingers. He motioned to the expanse below them with a certain theatrical nature. "Can you believe it? I used to open in Paris. _Paris_. And now…this."

And that's where she left it. She didn't know what Paris was, or if it _was_ anything at all, but from the way he spoke it sounded magnificent. Like an old lover. Any other time and she would have asked, she would have fawned over him, but this time she didn't. Stepping off the edge of the roof, she dropped to the balcony below, catching herself on the edge with one hand before continuing her decent down to street level. The Cloud was still thick, clogging her nose and throat, but the pain in her lungs distracted her from the aching in her heart.


	7. Chapter 7

Dog was sitting on the fountain, waiting for them. Whispering to himself, he suddenly shut up as soon as he heard the approaching footsteps. Looking up, he watched the two figures come out of the smog. His heart leapt at the familiar face and, quickly, he stood. She had been gone for some time, though how long he couldn't say. It was long enough for his hunger to return, long enough to miss her.

Looking up, Beatrice frowned. Little did she know, at her side, Dean was looking fairly content with himself. The spear in her hand was dragging on the ground behind her, bouncing and skitting along with a crisp sound. It was a threat. If it was a threat to Dog or the ghost people, Dean wasn't sure, but he was comfortable knowing that it at least wasn't for him. Oh yes, he was far too confident for his own good.

They had spoken quite a bit, chatted with ease and that look in her eyes never disappeared. It was the look of a fan, someone who would hang on his words. And he, himself, found that she made for a decent partner. She was strong, a survivalist, and smarter than she seemed. But more than that, she was funny and, dare he say, _interesting_.

"Human come back for Dog." He looked pleased, helpful. Almost like a child.

She wanted to be happy to see him, but something stopped it. There was a joy in his voice that she didn't want to disappoint, something eager and child-like she never wanted to hurt. He had trusted her, and she had trusted him. That seed of mistrust the Ghoul had planted stuck with her. It twisted in her mind.

She didn't respond to Dog, instead, she looked back to dean, smoothing her hair out of her face with a false sense of ease.

"Alright Dean darling, I believe this is where we part ways." She glanced to him, stopping a few feet from the fountain.

He stopped beside her, hands loosely shoved in his pockets. Head tilting back, he looked up to the hologram of the woman who still stood there. For a moment, he didn't even respond.

"Hmm? Oh yes, lovely. Take me out of my hiding spot and then just dump me."

"Sorry to break your heart, darlin', jus' somethin' that's gotta be done. I mean, unless you wanna come with me and face more spooks and death-defying feats, of course." And speaking of things that had to be done, Beatrice reached in to her pocket and withdrew her pipboy.

"Hmm, well, when you put it like that, perhaps I should stay in place. You'll be back for me anyway, partner." He chuckled, striding towards the fountain. "No woman can resist me."

"Mm, I'll keep that in mind." As Dean moved to look at the hologram, Beatrice moved towards Dog. "Dog, dear, are you ready to go back."

His excitement disappeared, her sweet words spoken between gritted teeth. "Dog not want to be put in cage again. Dog…Dog gets lonely."

"I know, but I'll let you out again, I promise. Do you trust me?"

"Of course Dog trust human Dog –."

"Bea." She cut him off to correct him again almost too tensely. Shooting a glance to Dean, she was sure he'd be paying attention, but he looked enraptured by the woman on the fountain, with her words.

Dog was stunned in to silence for a moment, then, he nodded. "Dog trust Bea." He paused again. There was so much he wanted to say, but he couldn't find the words to express those thoughts. He made a whining sound in the back of his throat. "Dog…trust Bea lots. Dog like Bea. Bea nice and cares about Dog. Dog likes that. But, Dog not trust…other voice."

"I wouldn't worry about that." She lifted a hand to hit the play button and stopped. If God had been the one to kidnap her, maybe he still had some of her fatigues, or at least knew where they were. "Hey, uh, you wouldn't happen to have a bandana in your pocket, would you?"

To that, Dog nodded happily. Hoping this would please Beatrice, he pulled out a dark green bandana and held it out to her. "Yes, yes Dog does!"

Taking the bandana, she brought it to her nose and held it there for a moment. It smelled like sunshine and dirt, like sarsaparilla and old sweat. Letting out the breath she had been holding, she folded it into a triangle, rolled the edge, and tied it over her head. Her messy, awkwardly chopped bangs stayed in place, but the bandana kept the rest of her hair from falling in to her face. She felt more like herself.

However, the fact that this was proof was not lost on her. She didn't know why God had decided to keep her bandana on him, but it was one clear indicator that he had been the one to take her.

His strong hands had pressed the bomb collar so tightly around her throat that it cut her.

She let out a shaky breath.

"Alright, ready?"

Reaching out, Dog tried to take her hand in his and watched her recoil. He didn't try again. Instead, he gave one final nod.

She hit the button.

"Dog, back in the cage." The recording played aloud and she watched the shift happen before her eyes. If she had doubted the duel sides of the Nightkin before, she didn't any more.

He shifted, posture straightening up. He blinked his mismatched eyes then glared down at Beatrice. If looks could kill, she would have been in serious trouble right then.

However, this time, she didn't shy away. This time, she glared right back at him.

No, no she couldn't find comfort in his face or his voice again. He was the one who did this to her. He was the one who grabbed her unconscious body and dragged her here knowing what was going to happen. It was rage boiling under her skin that she felt, shooting through her veins. She wanted to quell it, god she wanted to rub her arms until it went away, but she couldn't. Her temper, while it hadn't gotten the better of it, it had made her painfully stubborn.

"You locked me away." He spoke quietly, voice little more than a growl. This was a tone she knew already, the tone that said he wasn't going to bend, the tone that said he expected her to. She had always bent to his will thus far, had always let him have his way.

Sucking in a deep breath through her nose, she looked at him for just a moment before turning away. "Yeah well, tough snack cakes."

She heard the shock in his silence.

She heard her footsteps as she trailed a way. She was being stubborn, she knew it. But that was what she had to do. That was the reason she was alive. All this time she had been too stubborn to die. Starvation couldn't beat her, radiation couldn't beat her, and this place wouldn't break her. These people wouldn't hurt her.

Grinding her teeth, aching for bubblegum, Beatrice was unaware of any noise save for the sound of her own humming. She didn't dare turn her radio on, no, that would draw too much attention, but in her head she could hear the music. She could hear the noise and feel the warmth of vibrations in her throat. She was alone. She was without God or Dog, without Dean, and now she could finally stop thinking.

The ground shook slightly from heavy steps and, for a moment, her mind reverted. In a split second she remembered the dozens if not hundreds of times something had chased her down. In a split second, she was prepared to face down a raging deathclaw or supermutant and lose. She was always prepared to lose. Every day she was prepared to die.

"Stop." The commanding tone in his voice was loud enough to reverberate off the walls around them, careless as to what the noise drew to them.

She didn't comply. "Come on babe, you got at least half 'a control of that rotted brain of yours, surely even you understand walkin' way means I don't wanna chat with you. Wanna talk, go talk to yourself, you seem to be pretty good at that."

That was when he was supposed to leave her alone. That was when he was supposed to leave her to seethe in her own silence. This was the rabid dog growling at the hand reaching towards it, baring teeth in a threat to snap.

The Nighkin did not back away.

He grabbed her shoulder. As soon as he did it, he knew he shouldn't have. No, he was the calm one. He was the controlling and articulate one, the one who didn't understand the bloodlust of the Nightkin. But there he was, restraining her, forcing her to turn and face him for reasons he couldn't put words to. He felt the rage of Dog boiling under his skin and, for a moment, he was worried he might come out without the audio stimulation.

Calming his own breathing, he looked at her, watched her yank her shoulder from this grip with primal aggression, aggression he saw in Dog every day. There was fire in her eyes and she huffed out of her nose like a bull preparing to charge.

She had been different, or, that was what he told himself. She had rationalized with him, had told him that she wasn't here for the treasure. Beatrice held promise, hope that he had previously denied himself. He was reminded as to why he hated people. He hated their empty words, their selfish actions, their belief that they could break out from things.

They didn't understand.

"Stop this." He growled. "You are being a child, a fool. You act like I am the one with two faces yet I fear you have many more. Do you think these actions will do you any good? Do you think that all of this fighting will get you anywhere? You are just like Elijah, all of you humans are weak, fighting for something that doesn't matter, for greed that will get you nowhere. You fight to escape but you don't see, the world's always got another cage, waiting, keeping everything you want just out of reach."

"Don't you dare touch me." She spat the words with a dangerous tone. There was a crisp sound that cut the air and, before either of them could realize what had happened, her spear was angled at him, the jabbing motion she made leaving it only inches from his face. "Don't you dare fuckin' talk to me like yer so much better than some fuckin'_ human_ like me. Dean told me, you're the one who slapped this fuckin' thing 'round my neck. You know what? I've done some really shitty things in my life but at least I've never kidnapped someone, slapped a bomb on them, then pretended to be their friend."

She wanted him to yell at her. Instead, he lifted a hand and wrapped it around her spear. In his hand, it looked like nothing but a toothpick. There was a darkness in his features she had never seen before. "We were never friends." With a twist of his wrist, he snapped the top of her spear off and let the end clatter to the ground, leaving her with nothing but a broom handle.

As she stepped back, he stepped forward, invading her space and towering over her. "If you want to treat me as a monster, I will become one. Are you still afraid of me, human?"

She withdrew her pipboy from her pocket, staring at him though she sunk down. "No." The shaking in her voice could either be attributed to fear or rage and not even she could tell which it was.

"You would dare turn to Dog? You fear me that much?" He barked a laugh that made her blood run cold. Grasping her wrist, he held her hand still, his grip not quite bruising. He considered breaking that as well, but stopped. His grip loosened. "You won't do it."

"Try me." She tried to rip her wrist from his grip but couldn't quite pull it out.

He let her struggle until she finally slowed. Watching her breathe hard through her nose, through gritted teeth, he waited until he saw her calm down. They stood in relative silence, her hard breaths cutting through the air. She still looked pissed, ready to knock his teeth in, but she didn't fight his grip any longer. Then, he spoke.

"The singer told you that I'm the one who did this?" He asked. She gave a nod.

"And you believed him?" His gripped tightened in irritation and she winced, knees bending slightly in pain. She gave another nod. "You believed him over me? You would think I would do that? Follow _orders_? No. You mistake me for the mongrel. Out of all the people I thought would do that, you are not one of them, Beatrice. If I wished to make you bend to my will, I would not require anything more than my hands to do so."

He released her and she grabbed her wrist, holding the aching bone. Glaring up at him in retaliation, she bared her teeth but did not speak.

"I expected better of you."

And this time, it was his turn to walk away, move back to the fountain.

Beatrice turned away from him. Her heart was racing, and part of her wished he had snapped her wrist so she wouldn't be the one in the wrong. She had messed up and she knew it.

"Motherfucker."

Still stubborn, not quite knowing what to think or how to let go of the situation, she continued on her way. If Dog and God hated her, if Dean had lied, it didn't matter. She had a job to finish and she'd get it done no matter the cost.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who has commented and to everyone who is still reading this silly story of mine! I can't tell you how much this means to me and I'm excited to continue this, we're more than half way done with the Madre. Suggestions, comments, concerns, and critiques are always welcome!**

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><p>"I've got heartaches by the number." She sang softly to herself. "Troubles by the score." With a grunt, she jumped, long muscular legs propelling her just high enough so she could grasp the edge of the hole in the ceiling above her. "Every day you love me less, each day I love you more."<p>

The song soothed her and she hoisted herself up on to the roof. Without her spear, it's easier, and without her spear, she's practically defenseless again. Granted, she had taken precautions her whole life to make sure she was never fully without a weapon. She was strong, strong enough to break bones, snap necks, and best every person who attempted to arm wrestle with her. It was more than just raw strength too, she was skilled, a violent scrapper with a point to prove and there was nothing more dangerous.

She was still singing as she found the medical district. Mouthing words as she crouched down on a roof and scouted the area like a predator. The clinic looked promising, if nothing else it was the best place to find medical supplies.

"Yes I've got heartaches by the number." She dropped to the ground. Her knees bent from the impact and she rolled forward. The action was practiced and she ended up on her feet, couched low to the ground with her shoulders rolling, shifting like waves. "A love that I can't win, but the day that I stop counting-," she stood up and hustled to the door of the clinic, "-that's the day my world will end."

The door shut behind her as she finished her song and, luckily, she was greeted with silence. She hated it, as a general rule, but she was slowly beginning to appreciate the lack of sound, the lack of beeping or shuffling footsteps.

The way she made her way through the clinic was strangely methodical for someone typically so wild. She took her time in each room, going through every drawer and cupboard she could find. She grabbed cups and forks, stimpaks and bandages. However, when she stumbled upon a set of armor, she stopped.

Setting her pack down, she picked up the folded suit and looked at it. It came in multiple pieces that, from what she could see, consisted of a chest piece and other bits that would actually protect her in contrast to the grizzled jumpsuit that was currently glued to her skin with blood and sweat.

Shooting one last look around the room, she shut the door not so much for privacy, but for protection, and stripped down.

The pants reminded her of her cargos she had lost somewhere in her journey here. God it was nice to have pockets again. It was a bit of a struggle, but she managed to pull the long sleeved shirt in to place and wrestle with the collar so it fit under the bomb on her throat. It clung to her skin, but unlike the jumpsuit that was stiff with age and smog, it actually moved, had room to stretch and breathe. She flexed her arms, testing it out, and was fairly happy with the tight clothes.

Lifting the chest piece, she pulled it over her head and strapped it in to place on the sides. It was light weight, sleek, and she rather felt like an assassin. Beatrice clipped the belt of pouches around her waist, strapped the knife holders to her thighs, and pulled on the fingerless gloves before she tucked her pants in to the laced up black boots.

It fit her like a glove. Though she was wearing more equipment, by all technicalities, she felt lighter, her footsteps falling nearly silent as she moved to open the door once more. Shoving her knives into the holders, she mused that she finally looked like the force she was, an entity to be reckoned with. That, and she couldn't help but feel like La Fantoma at the same time. Though she doubted it was part of the design, the assassin suit actually made her look good with the form fitting material.

Whistling, she was about to make her way out of the clinic when something caught her attention. Pounding, like someone beating on something metal, the sound was muffled by distance and a few walls she was sure, but she heard it.

With near silent steps, she eased her way back down the dim hall, dark shadows curling along the walls.

There it was again, louder this time and accompanied with the sound of…wurring? Her brows furrowed, creasing her forehead.

She moved until she ended up in front of a door. Her hesitation was palpable, wondering what beast could be inside when she realized something rather horrifying. The banging wasn't a sound of anger, it was one of desperation, one that came from a human.

There was a beeping sound that made Beatrice's confidence drain out of her. She whipped around, searching the hall for the radio that was buzzing in her ears, broken words and half sounds fuzzing from it almost demonically. The tempo of the beeping around her throat was increasing with her heart rate and she saw it. On the wall, a speaker hummed, broken signal filling the air.

Skidding slightly on the ground as she broke in to a dead sprint, she threw herself back out of the hall and around the corner.

Sweat beaded on her flesh and she shut her eyes tightly. Beatrice was aware of the collar tight on her throat, the way it dug in to her skin- raw flesh. She was aware of the wall behind her back, the way her legs shook and the fact that she was wondering what it would be like. What if she just gave up? What if she just stood there and waited?

Would death really be so bad?

The worst part would be the anticipation, right? Hearing the beeping go faster- faster- and finally-.

Just as the thought came in to her mind, she clenched her jaw. No, fuck that. She had seen worse, this wasn't going to be the god damned thing that killed her, and if it did, she'd go out fighting tooth and nail. Gathering herself, the ex-raider peered back around the corner.

The speaker stood there, watching, taunting her. The urge to just barrel in and attack it with her spear until it was nothing more than scrap metal was appealing, it looked armored, protected for some reason, but she was sure she would have been able to handle it save for the fact that the beast had broken her weapon. While knives and fists could take care of the Ghost people, she wasn't sure it would be much help in killing the signal.

No, she'd have to use her brain.

That in mind, she turned and headed back to the first room.

Technology was never her strong point. That was where her brother Andrew succeeded. Mark had been good with guns, Andrew could fix anything you put in front of him, and Beatrice could punch shit. Through the years they traveled together after escaping their tribe, he had always tried to teach her how mechanics and technology worked. It was how he made his living when they finally settled in a small town, when they finally managed to piece together something of a life, it was his passion in life and something that made his eyes glimmer with joy.

She, of course, was never any good at it. Hacking was like learning another language and repairing things often lead to her getting shocked or otherwise harming something. She didn't have the steady hands Andrew did or the analytical, calm mind.

Still, a few things seemed to have stuck as Beatrice was not entirely helpless. She wasn't as fast as she would have liked to have been, she couldn't bang out a solution like her older brother, but in the end, it worked.

Back pressed against the same wall, she peered around the corner once more. Craning her head, trying to listen, she heard nothing.

The breath she let out expelled the shaking anxiety from her core. One more obstacle down.

Rounding the corner she headed down the same hallway as the banging continued and listened. Some part of her was expecting something to go wrong, as it always seemed to do, and in the back of her mind she could hear that devlish beeping. Cold. Empty. It left the fine hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end as she headed in to the room once more.

It was like something from a nightmare.

The room was pitch black save for a single flickering bulb that seemed to be on its last leg. In the center was a large mechanical structure she had seen only once before. The banging was coming from inside and the wurring suddenly got louder. The sounds became more frantic and Beatrice reached for the small command terminal attached to the Auto-Doc.

That was when her luck ran out. The terminal suddenly froze, glitches scattering across the screen before it simply displayed the word 'error' over and over again in repetitive lines.

Frantic and not knowing what else to do, she reached for the door and managed to get the first knuckles of her fingers inside. Then, she pulled. It didn't budge. Locking her jaws, shifting her stance, she pulled so hard she was sure her muscles were about to rip. Her face had gone red with strain and veins tensed in her neck so she could feel them pulsing against the bomb collar. Her heart beat was strong, pulse pushing against the collar.

She wished God was there. He would have been able to pry it open with no trouble at all.

The thought of him flared another round of irritation and guilt and that seemed to do the trick. She wouldn't rely on him. Not again. Just as her arms were about to burst from strain, the door inched open before the hydraulics finally gave out and the door sprung open in an instant.

Mechanical arms shot out, needles and scalpels reaching for the woman that stumbled out of the Auto-Doc. She had tried to brace herself on the doors but fell forward all too suddenly, stumbling until she hit Beatrice. Without thought, she grasped on to the redhead, shaking as the arms reached out for her. She was shocked more than anything, not having expected the door to open so suddenly.

Beatrice pulled her away, watching the doors malfunction and shut once more. A single 'hand' was still clasping.

The woman didn't move. Didn't speak. Beatrice tried to sooth her, rubbing her hands on her shoulders, staring at the mess of surgical scars on her bald head. "Woah, woah, easy there _bonita_. I got ya, I ain't gonna let ya get back in there."

The shaking of the woman's shoulders finally stopped and, quite suddenly, her head snapped up to look at Beatrice. Brown eyes glared at her and she yanked back from her touch. Her hands lifted to rub her bare arms, pale skin shockingly clean despite the blood on her wife beater. Everything about the bald woman screamed warning to get back or be attacked.

Beatrice just passively lifted her hands.

"Hey, relax, ain't no need for violence. I ain't gonna hurt you, see?" She stepped back, feeling the bald woman watch her too closely, brown eyes studying the collar.

She looked disoriented, pained. Blinking a few times she brought a hand to her head and swayed as if that alone caused her agony. Taking a breath, she opened her mouth to speak and looked shocked when nothing came out. Wincing once more, she frowned and looked down for just a moment before catching Beatrice's gaze again. She drew her finger across her throat, eyes more angry than hurt.

Bushy brows furrowed slightly at this, not quite understanding right away. That motion had meant something. When she spoke again, her words were slower. "That thing. That thing didn't give ya the scars on your face, just the one on your throat."

The woman looked almost surprised that Beatrice had understood and quickly nodded only to wince once more. She tenderly touched her neck with long, elegant fingers, making a mental note to try and keep her actions subdued.

"And now you can't talk."

Another nod, slower this time.

Beatrice's expression softened. "_Lo siento_." She wanted to offer some sort of comfort to the stranger, but she didn't know how and the pale girl didn't seem to want her pity. So, she opted to move on. "Do you know what's going on here?"

There was a pause and the woman touched her neck, then pointed to Beatrice's.

"We're connected, yeah."

Considering her next action, the woman mouthed something. Beatrice frowned and she did it once more.

"El…Elvira? No, Elijah." There was that name again. "You know Elijah? The one behind this?"

Her expression darkened and she nodded.

"So you also know that we have to work together or be killed."

This time, she didn't nod and Beatrice knew that expression all too well. Distrust. The stranger didn't trust her and Beatrice really couldn't blame her. Why this woman was here, she didn't know, if she had come here for the treasure or by mistake, she had likely gone through the same hell Beatrice had. Creatures that didn't die, bombs that went off around radios, that was enough to put anyone on edge. If she could talk, things would be easier. Beatrice's charm came from playing off of other people's humor, getting them to relax and reading their social cues.

This stranger, the bald woman, didn't give her much to work off of.

"Hey, it's alright bonita, I don't like this any more than you do. This place is pretty shitty an' I don't really know what's goin' on, but I know that we both got these collars on us and we gotta work together if we wanna survive. I dunno 'bout you, but I ain't too keen on dying just yet."

The exasperation in her voice comes off as honesty and, slowly, the bald woman took a step towards her but did not look all too convinced. Caution was still in those brown eyes

"I know you ain't got no reason to trust me, but I'm gonna trust you, okay? I've been told by the ol' man to gather everyone at the fountain. We're gonna open the Madre and I need you to work with me. Will you come along?"

Maybe the woman had been expecting Beatrice to force her along, but the question took her off guard. It was a genuine offer, not something that she had to do against her will.

There were worse things she could do than trust the woman who looked like the Mojave. She had cared enough to break her out of the Auto-Doc, cared enough to give her a choice. The bald woman glanced around once more before leveling her gaze on Beatrice. Then, ever so slowly, she stepped forward.

Beatrice's shoulders relaxed. "Come on, let's go meet up with the others then. We're almost done."

Almost done.

She had gathered the team, and now they just had to get inside of the Madre. How difficult could that be?

She still looked hesitant and Beatrice smiled at her. It was crooked, warm, designed to put people at ease. The woman's shoulders relaxed slightly at the sight and she stepped through the door that Beatrice held open for her, mouthing a silent 'thank you' in the process.

Christine re-loaded the gun she had been given, looking it over as she half jogged behind the taller woman. The grogginess that stuck with her as she slept all but disappeared after that last fight. She held the gun with a practiced ease, to the side of her body as she watched Beatrice fiddle with the bear trap fist she had pulled on.

The red head adjusted the glove, tightened the straps, and looked very pleased with the violent looking weapon. It was a good trade in for her lost spear. She had more control over it, more power in her arm.

How she kept going, Christine wasn't sure. They had stopped for the night sometime after she was released from the Auto-Doc and Beatrice had made herself quite clear. Cleaning off a space for Christine to rest on a bed, making sure she was comfortable, she said she'd stand watch. When Christine tried to offer they take shifts as best she could without the use of her voice, the red-head just smiled and shook her head.

True to her word, she was still awake when Christine got up, eyes still bright and lively, sharp against the dark rings that were beginning to form. But she didn't seem to care.

She talked a lot. She hummed, made noise, and told every story and joke that came to mind without much of a filter that Christine could see. She filled the silence that was left behind after the Auto-Doc and Christine didn't mind. She was learning, understanding this strange woman that had appeared so suddenly, ready to take the Madre by storm.

Beatrice looked back to her. "We're almost there bonita." She seemed almost apprehensive about this. "Fountain should be right at the end of this path."

And, for once, she was right. Having not gotten lost this time, they made their way along the ghostly buildings and came upon the fountain. Dean had found another package of cigarettes, apparently, and was mulling one over almost absently as he stood in place, one hand in his pocket. God, on the other hand, was standing quite far away from the entertainer.

Beatrice turned fully to look at Christine, walking backwards. This was it, the final piece of the puzzle. The trials weren't over, she was smart enough to know that, but now she had a team. Maybe they didn't all get along, maybe it was a patchwork team held together by nothing more than the threat of having their heads blown off, but they were a team none the less They had to work together, no matter how begrudgingly.

She glanced to God and swallowed not only a breath, but her pride as well.

"See, told ya we'd get here in time for the fun." Beatrice was grinning once more and she saw Christine give her a flicker of a smile in response. Before she could continue, however, the holograph of the woman disappeared and Elijah's face lit up once more.

Everyone seemed to stop moving in that moment. Their eyes landed on the weathered image and Beatrice was aware of how tense Christine had become. Sucking in a breath through her teeth, feeling her lungs ache in response, she waited to hear what their next task would be and prayed to gods she didn't believe in that this would all be over soon.


	9. Chapter 9

They had their orders and with a few quick moments, they all had decided what was to be done. Which was to say, Beatrice had told them what she was going to do and they were to just play along. She wasn't usually the sort to take charge, she never cared to have responsibility, but if keeping them alive meant saving her own skin, then so be it. The redhead had dished out food to the bald woman and Dean, had given them water and, in the Ghoul's case, cigarettes. They'd be moving soon, but she needed to have them in their best condition if they were going to get things done fast.

That left God.

He sat alone, hadn't said a word to her since she returned. Mismatched eyes watched her, glowering as his face contorted in a sneer that left her blood running cold. She watched him, apprehension more than clear in her eyes made all the more sharp by the dark rings that were beginning to form under them. It would have been easy to ignore him and they both knew it, to pull Dog out of his cage and be done with it because Dog wouldn't hate Beatrice. Dog wouldn't hurt her, Dog would obey her.

She had the power to ruin it all, and that made him hate her.

Why hadn't she just done it already? Why didn't she just take Dog out?

He growled as she moved towards him and she felt ice twist its way through her veins. Still, she sat beside him, leaning against the wall of the building behind them.

She looked down and neither of them moved, their posture rigid. He stared at the holograph on the fountain, squinted as he watched Dean smoke and the bald girl stare up at the Madre. There was the sound of crinkling plastic and he finally looked at the woman with fire for hair. She was holding a bag out to him. His frown deepened but he took it. Turning it over in his large hands, he frowned at the bag of chips.

Food was scarce where she came from, he knew that, could tell by the way she ate and horded it. The fact that she was giving it to him was a more than clear peace offering. Still, they both remained silent for minutes that seemed to stretch on for an eternity.

"I see the way you look at me. You're apprehensive. Still afraid I'm going to break your bones one at a time?" He was the one who broke the silence, baiting her, wanting her to snap once more to prove his point.

She was an animal.

"No." Her answer was soft, lacking its normal vigor.

"Why?" He asked, voice low and cold.

She didn't respond for a moment. Her head angled back until it leaned against the wall and she looked up at the low hanging clouds. He looked at the expanse of her throat that showed above the collar, at the blood that had dried on the metal. She was in pain, she had to be, but it didn't show in her features. She was chained just as he was, resilient. Seeming to mull her words over carefully, she absently scratched at her neck with broken and sharp nails.

Then, she had her answer.

"If you wanted to kill me, you would have done it already." Her head lulled and she looked up at that grizzled and scarred face of his. It was harsh and just as cold as she expected it to be. "I know you didn't deserve that I just…don't wanna be here."

His eyes left hers and went to the bag of chips. He popped it open. The smell of salty chips made her mouth water. Beatrice wouldn't say anything, but she had given all she had to the others. She had always put her tribe before herself and some part of her mind saw this as the same.

They were her tribe, her family.

"This is why I hate Elijah."

The words startled her from her thoughts and empty stomach. God wasn't watching her any more. He was staring at the chips in his hand.

"No, hate isn't a strong enough word for how I feel about him. The thought of him alone makes everything go _red_. He does this, makes Dog gather others, drag them here…fetch like an animal and…hurt them if they resist." He spoke so gravely, so softly no one else could hear. The pure loathing in his voice hurt her. "Dog doesn't even blink, even hear their cries when he's twisted their arms full circle…fragile things, screaming on the ground…." He droned off then, leaving it there. He could still hear them, still see them from his cage but there was never anything he could do.

God didn't bring people here, he never would, and he would have stopped Dog had the creature not silenced him with pain, drowning him out with Elijah's voice.

And that was why it had hurt so much when Beatrice accused _him_ of such awful things. Like she didn't know how hard he had fought to keep her safe from Dog's hunger.

Drawing her knees up, Beatrice draped her arms on them, hands limp. "You don't hate Dog, do you?"

He shut his eyes. "I've watched over Dog for so long. Tried to stop him from…hurting others, killing them," he made a disgruntled sound, words filling with old anger, "quiet that mindless howling instinct of his. He doesn't understand. He has the brain of a child…he knows when he does wrong, he just can't help himself."

"You want to protect him."

"He's my brother - kin. Without him I…wouldn't be here."

He sounded tired and there was no denying it. Letting the information mull around in her head, Beatrice pulled out a package of insta-mash and dumped the rest of half a bottle of water in it. She had tried to save it for later, for when she was really hungry, but patience was not a virtue she had. Shaking it to mix it up, she waited until it thickened and ate to quell the pain in her stomach.

"I get it." The redhead finally spoke, breaking the silence that had settled over them.

He finally looked at her, waiting for her to continue.

"I get it." She repeated again, looking at him. The charismatic light was gone from her eyes, the shield that kept people from getting too close replaced with something genuine. "I…had someone close to me who did that. A few of people actually. They destroyed everything they came in contact with, they ate the world and swallowed it whole. They hurt people without care, themselves, their friends, and-."

"You." He finished.

Beatrice nodded. When she spoke, her voice was tense. "Yeah. I'm not sayin' we're anythin' alike. We aren't. But I'm just sayin' _I get it_. I'm also sayin' that I've known people like you. People who let rage consume them, obsession drill holes in their mind. You want to kill Elijah. You think that'll fix it, make things better, but I promise you it won't. The hate will still be there. You'll burn yourself up."

She had seen it happen and the look she gave him was a sad one. It looked wrong on her features. Sorrow made her eyes look too real. The look on her face made something in him stir, a desire to fix whatever had happened, to repair her wounds and sympathize with her as she had tried to do with him.

God grunted in response.

Standing, she dusted off her pants and looked at him. In a moment, her walls had come back up, replacing the sensitive moment with the expression he was accustomed to seeing. The sparkle was back, her crooked smile finding its way back on to her face. She had done it so often, pretended so long that it looked natural on her face. Any other expression just didn't belong. Sucking in a breath, she turned her attention to him and him alone.

"Are we going, then?" He asked.

Her grin widened at the question. He was still willing to travel with her and that was all she needed to know. She liked him for this fact. She liked him because he forgave so easy. He didn't pretend to be someone he wasn't. He wasn't like her. "Missed wanderin' 'round with me sweetie?" When he didn't respond to her taunting, she turned away. "We're headin' to the south side of _Salida del Sol_." She spoke the name with a roll of her tongue, the Spanish blooming and catching life.

He watched her walk for a moment, her hair bouncing with each step.

"Jus' stay close to me 'n we'll be fine." She spoke to him without looking over her shoulder.

He was there, she knew he would be, she felt his form behind her. His response was slow, almost amused. Even then, there was still something dark to his words. "If you're sure."

Adjusting her headband, then her bear-trap fist, she looked back to check on the other two one last time. Dean seemed to be amusing himself with a book he had found and Christine was wandering about the fountain, staring at it. The thing that caught her attention was the fact that her path strategically avoided the singer.

How odd.

Ignoring that, Beatrice moved forward. Salida del Sol wouldn't be too hard to navigate, she was sure.

"God get back!" He didn't hear her, or, at the very least, didn't bother to listen.

The smell of blood was in the air, the electric charge of fighting. He charged at one of the ghost people as Beatrice ducked to avoid a spear. Grabbing it as it was jabbed at her, she twisted, flipping the creature over before she grabbed the weapon from them, stabbing the blade in the throat before giving it a twist to sever the head.

She had seen the explosive lobbed towards them from a trap that was triggered, saw it bounce on the ground a few feet in front of him and he had not. In a split second she had lunged forward. Grabbing the chain around his neck she yanked him backwards with all of her effort and felt him fight it.

She choked him and he made a gagging sound. Turning on his foot to try and maintain his balance, he went to turn his rage to Beatrice when she tugged down just as the explosion sounded.

She hit the ground. Sulfur filled her nose and her ears were ringing so loudly she couldn't hear anything. Eyes shut, she didn't move. Not that she could if she had wanted to. The blast had forced God back so suddenly he didn't have time to correct himself and he landed on top of her. He shielded her from the blast on accident but managed to bruise her up pretty well.

For a moment, God was just as stunned. Laying there, he felt her elbow awkwardly jabbing in to his back, his skin aching, vision distorted. Huffing out a breath from between his teeth, the Nightkin lifted from her and rose to his feet. Looking around, he breathed hard, ragged as he scanned the area. The bomb trap had managed to kill the last ghost person, but more were to come. They were drawn to sound, to light. They were hungry monsters and Beatrice was sure to make a good feast for them.

He expected to hear her laugh at the excitement of it all, or maybe hear her complain as she trudged forward to continue their mission, but she did neither. Strange. When he didn't see her jump to her feet and lead on, he looked back at her.

One hand on the ground, the other with the bear trap glove rested on her leg. She was half way sitting up, making quiet sounds of discomfort.

He lifted an eyebrow and she glanced at him. Her frown deepened.

"Yeah, I'm _fine_, thanks for asking." The sarcasm in her airy voice was practically palpable. Beatrice lifted on to her feet and winced, pressing on the metal plating that covered her ribcage. "Dios Mio, yeah, that's gonna hurt in the morning."

"Are you okay, Beatrice?"

She snorted. "Yeah, I'm fine I already sai- woah." She cut herself off as she stumbled slightly, lifting a hand to hold it to her face. The world had suddenly gone fuzzy, vision blurring and shifting as though she were back on buffout only without the pleasant high. Standing there, she stared at the ground, watching it twist and turn as the ringing returned, louder than ever.

God looked moderately concerned. He stepped forward. "What's wrong?"

"**What**?" She called all too loudly. She was loud as it was, but now she was practically yelling.

God grumbled. "Stop yelling, you'll draw attention."

"**What? I can't hear you. The world's spinnin' faster than a stripper on a pole with daddy iss-**mmph!"

The Nightkin had pressed a large thumb to her lips, holding her strong chin in the process to keep her still while shutting her up. He frowned at her. "Beatrice." He said slowly. "Hush."

Her brows furrowed, knitting together as she glared at him. He watched as she winced again, another jolt of pain shooting through her head. His thumb pressed a little firmer against her mouth.

However, the Nightkin had held on to her for too long.

Pain jolted through his hand as Beatrice sunk her teeth in to the pad of his thumb. She bit down- hard. Her teeth were sharp, jaw strong, and he was fairly sure she had actually bitten fingers off before. He yanked his hand back, scraping the thick skin across her ivories in the process. As her tongue darted out to clean the small smear of blood off of her lips, he glared at her.

She didn't have to explain, after all, he already knew. He had tried to control her, and she had retaliated, warned him not to try that again. Maybe he should have been offended, but she had held back. If she had wanted to really hurt him, she would have.

The ringing had stopped and she rubbed her face again, letting out a heavy breath. "Come on, let's get moving before more 'a those things come along."

She took another step and had to stop again. She swayed, grinding her teeth.

He touched her shoulder to steady her, watching her flinch. "When did you last sleep?"

"First day I was here."

"Beatrice." He sounded like he was scolding her.

"What?" She shrugged his hand off, continuing on.

"You can hardly walk straight." He trailed alongside her, taking slow steps.

"That ain't the sleep." She waved off his concern. "That's the Cloud. Stuff gets to you, well, maybe not _you_, but I'm a lot more fragile than you are."

"I would hardly call you fragile."

She grinned back at him and even then he could see the exhaustion beginning to pull at her expressive features. "Ya know just how to smooth talk a girl, don't ya God?" She laughed and the warm, boisterous sound turned in to aggressive coughing that made her brace her hand on her ribs, the cold metal biting in to her fingers.

He didn't have to say anything. God watched as her expression turned sheepish and face away from him. "Alright, _maybe_ you have a point. 'F we can find a place that isn't drenched in smog, we'll rest for the night."

She hadn't expected them to be able to find anything, not in _Salida del Sol._ The place was more dangerous than the Villa, crawling with the dead, filled with traps and smoke, but God's luck was better than hers, his eyes more attentive. Part of her wished he hadn't found the relatively clean apartment complex. Her mind was rushing even as she followed him inside, going through everything she needed to do. Get God to the switches, then she had to run around and position Dean and Christine which would take a good bit of effort. Then what? Go inside the Madre? Or would Elijah let her go as soon as it was open? He'd have no reason to keep her there and she had no reason to stay.

The treasure, whatever was in there, she didn't want it.

She didn't want it.

But, maybe she wanted to know what it was.

The idea was tantalizing and maybe the Madre had something else within it. The place had an odd sort of beauty, she had to admit.

"Why are you here?" God posed the question as Beatrice dug through the drawers in the bedroom.

She stopped and squinted at him. Had he been reading her mind? No, chances were good that he, in fact, was just oddly curious about her. Shutting the door, she answered.

"Because I was gassed and Dog put a collar on me, remember?"

He made that grumbling sound in the back of his throat again, the one that reverberated in his chest. "That is not what I meant." She should have known that and she probably did, however, she also had an ornery streak that still annoyed him.

"What does it matter?" She asked the question as she dropped down on to the bed, letting her head flop back against the moldy pillow.

"People like you, they don't come here. Everyone else was like the entertainer, greedy and manipulative, or the broken doll, here for a personal vendetta. But you…you don't belong."

She shut her eyes. "That's why I'm gonna get the hell outta here. Go back to my home, have a drink, see my friends."

"And you think everything will be the same? You think you will be able to go back to your life as it was?" He moved towards the door to leave her be, to keep watch. "This place will change you, Beatrice. It already has."

The door shut behind him.


End file.
